


A Surfeit of Weasleys

by Ghyste



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complete, F/M, Humor, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Post - Half-Blood Prince, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 15:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghyste/pseuds/Ghyste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something rotten in the Weasley household, and it's not just Draco's corpse!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set just after the end of Half Blood Prince. The opening paragraph to the first chapter is borrowed from Dickens’ _A Christmas Carol_

Draco was dead: to begin with. There was no doubt whatsoever about that. The register of his burial, or at least the burial of what there was left of him after Greyback had finished, was signed by the Elders, the Court Scribe, the Interrogator, and the Chief Warlock. Yes… Draco was as dead as a door-nail.

As one might expect, there was precious little mourning in the Wizarding world as a result of this news. What was left of the boy’s family was imprisoned or in hiding and his former friends and allies, such as they were, agreed that he had brought his misfortune upon himself via the sad mishandling of the Dumbledore business. “Who,” they said, “would have thought that the Malfoy blood had become so thin?”

In Ottery St Catchpole, home of the Weasley family amongst others, there was positive celebration amongst the younger scions of that clan - although it had to be noted that Harry Potter, Hero Elect of the Wizarding world and current houseguest, was uncharacteristically sombre. Not even Ginny Weasley’s much admired mime of “Malfoy being torn to pieces by a werewolf and partially eaten” could raise a smile, though she performed it five times sequentially each to more uproarious laughter from the other spectators. It was not so much that Harry was sad that his schoolboy nemesis was dead or that he was shocked by the brutal circumstances of Malfoy’s demise, it was just that the offstage nature of the death made Harry feel somehow cheated and it had left behind a small, pointy hole in his sense of self-worth. 

“Malfoy’s fall,” thought Harry, “should have been different. It should have come about because of _me_.”

Nevertheless, Harry had little leisure to brood upon this apparent injustice. Not that what took up his time was particularly productive - the Order being submerged in endless meetings to determine who should lead them in Dumbledore’s place and what it was that that individual should be leading them towards. Whilst excluded from the bulk of the meetings themselves, the younger members were periodically called upon to cast their votes as part of a labyrinthine process that Hermione likened to the election of a new Pontiff except with more smoke. Trapped as they were in the Burrow, there was not even the opportunity for carrying out research into the location of the missing Horcruxes, even if they had been sure that the necessary material had existed. No, Harry’s time was largely spent in refereeing the internecine warfare within the Weasley clan regarding who was going to have to do what at Bill and Fleur’s forthcoming nuptials. Eventually peace was only restored by virtue of voting Percy into all of the most tedious and potentially embarrassing jobs in his absence which, as the Twins observed, was fine because he would have been more than happy to have volunteered had he been there and it would be his fault if everything went horribly wrong - especially should he choose not to attend, as seemed entirely possible at this juncture. 

Harry also spent a considerable amount of time trying, as tactfully as he knew how, to avoid Ginny. This was something that turned out to be more than a little challenging being as how they were bivouacked together in such close quarters. It wasn’t that he didn’t still fancy her, he told himself - though admittedly the chest monster had become suspiciously quiet since she had made it clear that she intended to catch Fleur’s bouquet even if it meant hexing all of the other female guests - it was just that he had _finally_ managed to make A Noble Decision all on his own and he was going to stand by it come hell or high water. However, given the number of times he’d been on the receiving end of her patented hard blazing look, it seemed that Ginny was coming to view The Decision as something more in the line of a gesture and, as a result, Harry had had to resort to sleeping with the magical version of the chair wedged under the doorknob to avoid becoming the groom at a shotgun wedding, and was relying on the temporary sanctuary of his invisibility cloak more often than was strictly polite in a house guest and de-facto member of the family.

This strange holding pattern was abruptly broken one afternoon when a more than usually harassed-looking Remus Lupin paid an unscheduled visit to the household and promptly closeted himself away with Arthur behind a set of shields so powerful that not even the Twins’ extendable ears were of any help. The household waited with bated breath and, in due course, the door opened and Arthur stormed out into the hall.

“I’ll not do it,” he said to the pursuing Remus. “I don’t care if it _was_ Albus’s wish, I’ll not put my wife and children through that.”

“Don’t you think you should ask your wife what she thinks first?” said Molly, as she emerged from the kitchen drying her hands on her apron. “She might have an opinion.”

“No,” said Arthur, “I do not.” 

With that he headed out of the Burrow and into his shed, slamming the door behind him and leaving Remus to the mercy of the gathered audience. “Ah,” said Remus, “must be going. Things to do, people to see. Arthur will brief you all later.”

“Remus Lupin,” said Molly, hands on her hips, “you’re not too big that I can’t box your ears. Now tell me what’s going on.” 

”Very well,” said Remus, “but not here.” The pair of them disappeared back into the room that he and Arthur had recently vacated, leaving everyone else to cool their heels in the hall once more. Eventually Molly emerged and, with Remus, headed out to the shed and Arthur. Watching them go past, Harry felt as though he was a member of the crowd at a very slow-motion tennis match. 

Said crowd had diminished in numbers by the time there was any hint of action and even those tenacious enough to stay the course had begun to flag, with just Harry, Hermione, and Ron being draped around the hall in various states of recumbence when the adults finally left the shed. None of them looked particularly happy, but there was now an air of resignation about Arthur that had not been present beforehand. “We are going to have a guest,” he said. “Remus will be bringing him in the morning. You are not to mention this to anyone outside of the household for the present. Now, I think it’s long past time for tea.”

Harry and Co. exchanged glances and, as soon as they could, they extricated themselves and headed for Ron’s bedroom. Ron was the first to voice the question that was at the front of everyone’s mind. “Who the heck can it be?” he said.

“Well,” said Hermione, “we know it’s a he, we know that it’s a secret and we know that your dad isn’t at all happy about it so that has to narrow the field.” She looked expectantly at the others but any hope she had of intelligent suggestions was dashed by the blank looks they gave in return.

“Dad doesn’t like Percy very much at the moment,” offered Ron, after the silence had become too strained for him to remain quiet any longer.

“If your father was that upset about Percy coming to visit he’d hardly have invited him to the wedding,” observed Hermione, with a roll of her eyes.

“Well, you come up with a suggestion then.” 

“Aside from a few of the high-ups at the Ministry, there’s very few people on our side your dad doesn’t like, Ron,” interjected Harry, before the pair of them had a chance to resume the bickering that had been going on almost non-stop for the last year. “That means it’s got to be someone on the _other_ side.”

“Exactly!” said Hermione.

“Like a turncloak, you mean?” said Ron with a frown.

“Yes, but who is it and why would they bring them here?” said Hermione. “Surely somewhere unplottable like Grimmauld Place would be safer?”

“Maybe they’re planning on hiding whoever it is in plain sight?” suggested Harry.

“But that makes no sense,” said Hermione. “We’re wizards; we don’t need to hide someone in plain sight.”

“Since when has any of this made sense?” said Ron, gloomily. Had Trelawney been present she should have rewarded Ron for the perspicacity of this remark, but as it was it only earned him a glare from Hermione.

As it turned out, some (but certainly far from all) of their questions were answered the next morning when Remus Lupin Apparated in with an undoubtedly less than sartorially correct, but not even remotely dead, Draco Malfoy in tow.


	2. Chapter 2

They nearly had to spell Harry into oblivion.

It could not be said that the younger members of the household had greeted the arrival of the presumed-late heir to the Malfoy name with any degree of equinanimity. Indeed, even the adults of the party looked a trifle green around the gills at the arrival of this particular cuckoo in their nest. However, it was Harry who finally snapped and went for the jugular, the brief feelings of empathy he had felt towards Malfoy at Dumbledore’s funeral vanishing like mist now he was face-to-face with his long-time foe.

“Malfoy!” he screeched, and leapt for the aforesaid proto-Death Eater’s neck.

It was fortunate that while in the heat of the moment Harry had forgotten that he was a wizard, Remus had not and hit him with a quick leg-locker, sending him plummeting to the floor. Despite this handicap, Harry continued to drag himself towards his erstwhile victim until Molly stepped between them.

“Harry James Potter,” she said. “Draco Malfoy is a guest in this house. No-one kills him unless I say so.”

Oddly, Draco did not appear to be particularly reassured by this statement.

The past few weeks had not been kind to Draco, who looked as though he had been living in a particularly unsanitary pigsty - possibly while the pigs were still in residence. Molly clucked her tongue at his appearance. “You’d better get upstairs and have a bath while we sort things out down here. Remus, would you show him the way?”

“Which room will he be in?” asked Remus.

“He can share the Twins’ room with Harry,” said Molly, who had not failed to notice the calculating glances that her daughter had been casting in the direction of Harry’s bedroom door on more than one occasion that summer.

“Do you think that’s wise?” asked Remus.

“If they’re going to be staying in my home together it’s best that they get used to the idea as quickly as possible,” rationalised Molly. “Mind you,” she added,” I think I’ll lay in an extra stock of healing salves just to be on the safe side.” As the pair headed for the bathroom, she turned to Arthur. “Have you come up with a plausible reason for him being here?”

“Why do we need a reason for him being here?” asked Ron. “After all, no one will see him if we keep him locked up.”

“Ronald Weasley,” said Molly, “what kind of hostess would I be if I locked up a guest?”

“A sensible one,” muttered Harry from his position on the floor.

“I thought we could pretend he was a distant relative,” said Arthur, “… from the Conolies.”

“Distant relative?” protested Ron. “I’m not having that ferret-faced git pretending he’s a relative of mine.”

“Actually,” said Hermione, “he already _is_ a relative of yours. Didn’t you look at the tapestry when we were at Grimmauld Place last summer? Draco is your third cousin, once removed.” Ron looked ready to gag as Hermione continued, “But even if he is a relative he doesn’t look like one of you, and I can hardly see him doing a convincing American accent.”

“The Conolies are in America?” asked Arthur, though no one paid him any attention for fear of setting Hermione off.

“Oh, I dare say we’ll work something out,” said Molly as she bustled away, calling “a hand here, Ginny, there’s an extra mouth to feed for lunch,” over her shoulder as she went.

“Right,” said Hermione after the others had departed, “if no-one’s going to come up with a proper plan then we’ll have to.” After a pause she added, “We’d better do this in your room, Harry, we’re going to need Malfoy on side if it’s going to work.”

Harry growled.

“And if you don’t agree I’ll l throw your invisibility cloak over you and leave you there on the floor until someone trips over you,” she continued.

“You’re a hard woman,” said Ron, “that’s something Malfoy might have come up with.”

“He did,” muttered Harry.

“And let it never be said that I don’t learn from example,” said Hermione. “So, what’s it to be, Harry?”

“I’ll behave,” said Harry, grudgingly, and earned himself a ‘Finite Incantatem’.

Thus it was that the three of them were waiting when Draco returned from the bathroom, still slightly damp and dressed only in a bath towel round his waist. Harry thought that he was even thinner than he had been at Hogwarts and the circles under his eyes were, if anything, more pronounced. But Malfoy’s further physical deterioration was something that Harry noted only in passing as his eyes homed in on his forearm… his unmarked forearm.

“Remus has left you some clothes,” said Hermione, “get dressed; we need to talk to you.”

“I’m not getting dressed in front of you, Granger,” spat Draco.

“All right,” said Hermione with a sigh, “I’ll turn round.”

“All of you,” said Draco.

“How do we know you won’t try something?” asked Ron.

“Yes,” said Draco, “because I’m so dangerous when I’m naked and unarmed.”

“OK,” said Hermione, “we’ll trust you, turn round boys.”

A bit of protracted rustling later and Draco was fully, if not attractively, clothed in Weasley cast-offs.

“Right,” said Hermione, “here’s the thing – for some reason you aren’t quite as dead as you’re supposed to be and you need a place to hide out. We’re prepared to help if you tell us what’s going on.”

“What, Little Miss Know-it-all doesn’t already have all the facts?” sneered Draco. “The world as we know it is about to come to an end.”

“Your world will definitely come to an end if you speak to her like that again,” warned Harry.

“My world, or at least everything that mattered in it, already has come to an end,” replied Draco. “You can’t threaten me.”

“And yet you still came here for our help,” observed Hermione. “Interesting…”

“Believe me, if I’d had any other alternative I wouldn’t have given you the satisfaction.”

“Nevertheless, here you are and we’d like some answers.”

“Starting with why you’re not dead,” said Ron.

“Disappointed, Weasley?”

“Yes.”

“Then maybe putting up with you lot will be worth it if it keeps me alive,” replied Draco.

“Well, if you’re going to persist in living just to spite us, you might as well pass some time by explaining how you come not to be dead,” snapped Harry. “The last time I saw you, you were hot-footing it away with Snape having failed to kill Dumbledore like the yellow-bellied coward you are.”

“How typical… you’re supposed to be on Dumbledore’s side but still you manage to paint my failure to kill him as a weakness,” said Draco. “You make me sick, you fucking hypocrite.”

“And I suppose watching a sick old man plead with Snape for his life makes you a paragon of virtue,” shot back Harry.

“He was pleading for his death, you fool,” said Draco, “and anyway, how do _you_ know what went on in the tower?”

“I was there,” said Harry. “Under my cloak. I saw it all.”

“You were there but you did nothing?” said Draco, a sneer twisting his lips. “And I’m the coward?"

“I was Petrified,” snapped Harry, “there was nothing I _could_ do but watch.”

“Well, if you watched, then you know that Dumbledore offered me sanctuary,” said Draco.

“Yes – just like a snake to come grovelling to us for sanctuary after what you did. You’d probably betray your own father,” accused Harry.

“Yes I would,” whispered Draco, his face suddenly ashen.

Harry fell silent.

“Cat got your tongue, Potter?” asked Draco, regaining some of his earlier fire. “Yes, after what he did I’d hand him to the headsman and then dance on his grave. Does that make you happy?”

“What did he do, Malfoy?” asked Hermione softly.

“Voldemort told him to hand me over to Greyback to atone for my failure,” said Draco, tightly. “I did everything he’d ever asked me to, everything and more, and he was ready to give me to that thing without a moment’s hesitation. If he’d had his way, it really would be me in little pieces in that coffin and I’d have been glad to have finally been in there. If it hadn’t have been for Snape…”

“Snape got you out?” asked Hermione.

“Got me out and found a substitute,” said Draco.

“Who?” asked Hermione.

“I don’t know,” admitted Draco. “I didn’t ask. He said… he said that they deserved it.”

“That’s no answer - Snape would think that **I** deserved it,” shouted Harry, his outrage rising again. “Besides, who the hell are you that someone should die in your place?”

“Maybe that’s something you should be asking Cedric Diggory’s family,” shot back Draco, rising to his feet. Harry followed suit, his fists clenched and jaw trembling. But, before the inevitable blows could be exchanged, Hermione leapt between the pair of them, eyes blazing.

“That’s _enough_ ,” she said. “We appear to be on the same side now, so we all need to work together to help end this war before it begins. How on earth do you think anyone’s going to take us seriously enough to contribute if you two can’t be in the same room with each other for five minutes before you’re at each other’s throats?”

“But Hermione...” began Ron.

“But nothing,” said Hermione. “If we want to be treated like adults then we need to behave like adults. Now sit down the pair of you, we need to make some plans.” After a few tense moments Harry and Draco resumed their seats, neither taking their eyes off of the other for a second. “Right,” continued Hermione, “firstly we need to find a plausible reason as to why a distant and hitherto unknown member of the Weasley clan has suddenly turned up here.”

“Distant member of the Weasley clan?” protested Draco, his gaze finally snapping away from Harry. “I’m not having that weasel-faced git pretending he’s a relative of mine.”

“Actually,” said Harry, evidently relishing the moment, “he already _is_ a relative of yours. Ron’s your third cousin, once removed.” 

“Thanks for reminding me,” said Ron, not at all thankfully. 

“So are his brothers and sister,” added Harry unrepentantly.

“Anyway,” continued Hermione, glaring balefully at Harry, “given that the Wizarding world is so small and tightly-knit, we need a reason why this distant relation hasn’t been seen before.” 

“Maybe he’s a Squib and they wanted to hush things up,” suggested Harry.

Ron and Draco seemed equally outraged at that particular suggestion, Draco at being cast as a Squib and Ron that any Weasley would hush up their less than magically gifted offspring. After all, as Ron put it, “that was the sort of thing Malfoys did, not Weasleys”.

Hermione on the other hand, after taking a moment to make a coughing noise that sounded strangely like ‘accountant’, seized the suggestion and ran with it. “Maybe,” she said, “he’s a Squib fathered on a Muggle who only told him about his other family on her death-bed.”

“Maybe,” said Ron, “you’ve been reading too many of Gilean Barrelsmith’s novels.”

“Right,” said Draco, “I’ve listened to as much of this drivel as I’m going to. I am _not_ going to pretend to be some half-blood Squib of a Weasley.”

“What?” said Harry, “you’d rather go back and let Greyback finish what he started? Or maybe you think you can suck Voldemort’s dick until you’re back in favour?”

Now it was Draco’s turn to make a leap for the jugular, but he’d counted without Hermione’s intervention. She pointed her wand at Draco while he was still in full flight. “Petrificus Totalis,” she said, following it up with a quick “Silencio” to complete the effect as he crashed to the mattress. Ron then gave him a little shove and Draco toppled sideways onto the floor.

“So, who’s the lucky father?” asked Harry, ignoring the rigid form that was currently staring up at him with rabid hatred in its eyes.

“Dad had a couple of brothers,” admitted Ron, grudgingly. “I guess one of them could have been a bit careless in his youth. They’re both dead now so they won’t suffer too much from the indignity of having Malfoy-spawn inflicted upon them posthumously.”

“Of course we’ll need to disguise him if he’s going to be taken for a Weasley,” said Hermione, “that’s obvious enough, but how?”

“Polyjuice?” suggested Harry. 

“Wears off too quickly,” said Hermione.

“Glamour?” suggested Ron.

Hermione shook her head. “They’d spot the magic a mile off and that’ll be fatal if he’s supposed to be a Squib. No, there’s no alternative, we have to do it the Muggle way - hair dye, make-up, that sort of thing.”

At that Draco’s eyes went slightly frantic.

“I’ll need to pop down to the chemist for some stuff,” continued a business-like Hermione. “Harry, you can come with me.”

This time it was Harry’s eyes that were frantic. “Why me?” he said. “I don’t know anything about that kind of stuff.” 

“No,” said Hermione, “but you do know about Muggle stuff, which is more than I can say for Ron here.”

“She’s got a point there, mate,” said Ron, earning himself a glare.

“What about Ginny?” asked Harry, “she’s a girl.”

“Ginny is busy,” said Hermione, “and anyway, after your earlier behaviour I wouldn’t trust you here with Malfoy when I’m not around.”

“She’s made her mind up,” said Ron. “All you can do is to take it like a man.” 

“Well, at least I’m not going to be Malfoy-sitting like you,” said Harry.

“I don’t know, I kind of like him like this,” said Ron, poking Draco’s rigid form with his toe. “No end of an improvement.”

***

The Ottery St Catchpole chemist having failed to pony up the necessary goods, Harry and Hermione ended up having to take the bus to the next town, which boasted a fairly large Boots on the High Street. Hermione strode straight towards the haircare section, followed by a rather uncomfortable Harry, and started scrutinising the labels on the hair products.

“There’s so many,” said Harry in tones of awe, as he gazed around at the crowded shelves, “why are there so many?”

“How about Nice N’easy?” said Hermione, ignoring him. “It says its colour formula has built-in multi-tones that envelop every strand in subtly different shades so that you can achieve the depth, dimension and shine of natural hair colour.”

“That’s nice,” said Harry, still somewhat dazed.

“Natural auburn or golden auburn, do you think?” said Hermione, holding up a couple of boxes for Harry’s consideration.

“I think that no-one could possibly need this much choice,” said Harry, “but if pushed I would have to go for the golden auburn.”

“Now for the skin,” said Hermione, leading the way to the appropriate section. “We can’t do the freckles, but we can darken him up a little bit. I know redheads are pale-skinned, but Malfoy as he is would be taking it to extremes.” She peered at a few of the bottles. “I think the Holiday Skin moisturiser would be best.”

“Mmmm…” said Harry, who was quite getting into the swing of things by now. “He’s so pasty that something like that San Tropez there might look a bit too fake.” Another thought hit him. “What about the eyes?” he said. “Grey eyes will look odd with red hair and darker skin.”

“Good point, we’d best see if they’ve got any fashion contact lenses,” said Hermione. “See – I said you should come along, you’re taking to this like a natural.” 

“Um, Hermione?” said Harry, trying to distract Hermione from his newly discovered capability in the realm of health and beauty, particularly as relating to Draco Malfoy. “How do _you_ know about all this stuff? I mean, I was brought up Muggle and this is a whole new world to me.”

That’s because you’re a boy,” said Hermione.

“But where have you picked it all up from? After all, you’re hardly likely to have found it in _Hogwarts: A History_.”

“Little you’d know,” replied Hermione with a grin. “But if you want the truth, you can’t smuggle in copies of _Cosmopolitan_ for Lavender and Parvati for six years without picking up something, if only by osmosis.”


	3. Chapter 3

Life with Draco around the Burrow could not be said to be tranquil. Not, of course, that that was a word that could really be used to describe the Burrow at the best of times, but Draco seemed to have an uncanny knack of bringing out the absolute worst of everyone. The fact that Draco was less than impressed with his new Weasleyesque looks might have led one to assume that he was doing it deliberately as a form of revenge, but Harry at least was convinced that it was an innate Malfoy talent, gifted to each new generation at birth along with the silver spoon and the trust fund.

Whilst the rest of the household were given some peace from the Malfoy-effect at night, for Harry at least there was no respite. It wasn’t that Draco actually did or said anything; it was just that he was _there_ and alive while others that Harry cared about were dead and rotting in their graves. Harry would lie awake in the early hours of the morning listening to the sound of Draco breathing and wanting to kill him. It would take so little, he thought, to slip over to the other bed and hold a pillow over the pale face that had made so many appearances in his nightmares since that night in the tower. Just a few short moments would put an end to those soft sounds and Dumbledore would be revenged at least in part. But reason warred with passion and triumphed, and Malfoy’s breathing continued to haunt Harry’s nights.

Of course the lack of sleep didn’t make Harry’s temper any better during the daylight hours. Indeed, had there been a poll it was quite possible that the race for ‘most irritating person in the Burrow’ might have been closer than Harry would have expected.

Nevertheless, the days rolled inexorably on and soon it was time for the wedding. A fierce debate arose over whether Draco would be allowed to attend and, interestingly, Draco himself was on the side of those suggesting that he should spend the day locked in the cellar. Nevertheless, as Mother of the Groom, Molly’s will prevailed and Draco attended with a thoroughly disgruntled Harry in tow - it having been decided, again by Molly, that Harry would be better employed keeping an eye on their reluctant guest than squiring Ginny as had been her daughter’s enthusiastic suggestion. Besides, as Hermione pointed out, it would be the ideal opportunity to test out Draco’s cover story.

On the morning of the nuptials, Harry gazed out at the garden full of chattering people and sighed. “Why’s the wedding taking place here anyway?” he asked. “I thought they were usually hosted by the Bride’s family.”

“The Delacours thought it would be ‘tres quaint’,” said Ron with a grimace.

Everyone who was anyone at the Ministry and Gringotts was there. Harry spent the wedding lurking at the back of the crowd and trying to avoid talking to anyone – including Draco, despite being saddled with him for the whole of the day. Fortuitously, though not particularly unexpectedly, none of the Malfoys’ former circle was present, so Draco’s acting skills were not unduly tested. When anyone did brave the minefield that was Harry’s comprehensive repertoire of scowls, he introduced Draco as Ron’s distant cousin Eustace who was visiting for the wedding. When Hermione had asked earlier why he had chosen to christen Malfoy thus, he had replied that it was the name of a thoroughly unpleasant git from a book of Dudley’s that he had started to read before it was confiscated. He wasn’t quite sure why Hermione had looked faintly amused at that.

Food and drink were plenteous and the gathering soon became rowdy. Indeed, it was fortunate that it was so, because no one particularly cared that Fleur’s father’s speech was all in French, Arthur interrupted the Best Man’s to give a long and rambling dissertation on how the ancient Muggle broomstick wedding had originated from a complex quidditch manoeuvre and the twins managed to cast a hex that made Fleur’s mother’s bodice intermittently transparent. Ginny, as predicted, caught the Bride’s bouquet, though whether Tonks’ spirited challenge failed as a result of her own innate clumsiness or because of a well timed tripping hex, no one was quite sure.

“God, this is plebeian,” complained Draco, stabbing his slice of the confectionary miracle that was Molly’s wedding cake. 

“I notice that didn’t stop you stuffing yourself with my portion of each course as well as your own,” replied Harry.

“Hey – I’m still getting back my strength,” said Draco, “I’m not going to let free food go to waste just because you’ve lost your appetite. What is it – too busy planning your own triumphal entry into the Weasley clan to eat?”

“I suppose your marriage to Parkinson will be the height of good taste,” shot back Harry.

“Not likely to be any marriage to Pansy now. Hell, there’s not likely to be any marriage to anyone after all this,” said Draco. “One of the few good things to come out of this mess.”

“Don’t you want to get married? Have children?” asked Harry, curious despite himself.

“Not really,” replied Draco, though a mouthful of the despised cake. “I’d have done it for the family, but now I’m dead there isn’t the same obligation.”

“I’d love to have a family,” said Harry.

“What, marry the Weaslette and breed lots of little redheaded brats?” Draco shrugged. “Someone’s got to keep the peasantry at a sustainable level, I suppose.” 

“Ginny’s not a peasant, and I’m not going out with her anymore anyway,” said Harry.

“That’s not what she thinks,” said Draco, nodding his head towards Ginny, who was indeed watching Harry from her place at the top table. As she noticed Harry’s gaze, she smiled at him from under her eyelashes. “You’re as good as shackled as far as that one’s concerned,” continued Draco, taking advantage of Harry’s distraction to steal his slice of cake.

“I am not,” said Harry.

“Trouble in paradise for Hogwarts’ very own golden couple, eh?” mocked Draco. “Is she too much woman for you?”

“I have more important things to do than worry about romance,” said Harry, his temper beginning to rise.

“Like what?” asked Draco. “Organising weddings? Babysitting me? Hardly seems earth-shatteringly important. Or maybe they’re enjoying a brief and hitherto unwarranted level of consequence just because ‘The Boy Who Lived’ is doing them? Careful, Potter, people might think you’re buying into your own propaganda.”

“I knew there was no point in trying to be civil to you,” barked Harry. “I’ve had enough of this farce; I’m going back to the house.” Leaping up from the table, Harry stalked towards the house, but suddenly spotted Rufus Scrimgeour heading purposefully in his direction, robes billowing behind him. Changing direction, he ducked into the shrubbery, following the track through it until he found a quiet glade where he sank down onto a bench set against the base of a venerable oak and closed his eyes. God, he needed a bit of peace so that he could get his thoughts together long enough to work out what he had to do. In a way, Malfoy had been right on the button - at Dumbledore’s funeral he’d been filled with purpose, but between the wedding arrangements, the eternal bickering between the adults, Ginny’s presence and Malfoy’s arrival he hadn’t had a moment’s respite to gather his thoughts, let alone come up with anything resembling a plan of action. But now with the wedding nearly over, he had no more time to waste - he had to stop letting trifling things distract him and get on with the duty that had been laid upon him by indifferent fate.

Suddenly, Harry was pulled out of his thoughts as the silence was broken by the snap of a twig. He opened his eyes and saw Ginny smiling down at him. “Ginny, what are you doing here?” he asked, smiling in return though the last thing he really wanted at the moment was company, pretty though this particular company looked in her finery. Seizing on the last thought he asked: “Don’t you have some Bridesmaid’s duties you should be attending to?”

“No - now the Bride’s left, I’m free to enjoy myself so thought I’d come and claim a kiss from my favourite man for having caught the bouquet,” she said coquettishly, sinking to her knees in front of him, apparently oblivious to the damage to her pale gold Bridesmaid robes.

Harry dutifully bent forward to brush her lips, hoping that he could get this over quickly and return to his planning, but as he did her arms wound around his neck and her mouth opened beneath his, her tongue darting out to demand entry. Caught unawares, Harry’s mouth also opened and Ginny deepened the kiss, crawling up onto his lap and pushing him back against the trunk of the tree. Harry abruptly felt a wave of very unmanly panic rise through him as control of the situation slipped away and his arms flailed ineffectually as Ginny continued her assault on his mouth. However, rescue was at hand as the sound of a loud cough suddenly ricocheted around the glade and Harry saw a disapproving Percy over Ginny’s shoulder. He pushed against Ginny, forcing her to sit back, though her arms remained around him. She opened her mouth as if to remonstrate, then followed Harry’s gaze and realised they were not alone. 

“Percy,” she hissed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I saw you come this way and wanted to have a private word with you,” said Percy, frowning. “I didn’t realise I’d be interrupting something.”

“Well, as you can see, I’m busy,” she said, turning back to Harry as if intent upon carrying on where she had left off.

“I know we parted badly last time we met,” Percy persisted, “but I’d really like to talk to you. It’s important.”

“Ginny,” said Harry gently, disentangling her arms from around his neck, “he’s your brother, you should hear what he has to say.”

“There’s nothing he could possibly say that I’d want to hear, particularly not at the moment,” she replied.

“Please?” he said. “For me?”

“Well, if it’s for you, Harry,” she replied, her frown turning to an engaging smile as she placed a light kiss on the end of his nose. Then, standing and turning to Percy, she put her hands on her hips and said: “Keep it short.”

Standing himself, Harry decided to make himself scarce. “I’ll just… “ he muttered and started off down the path. Percy’s words floated disjointedly to him on the breeze as he walked away. “I’m worried… changed… people talking… Mum’s noticed.” He looked back briefly at the pair of siblings and saw Percy talking urgently to Ginny; his face lined with concern and hers red with outrage. Harry, however, gave scant thought to whatever they were arguing about and carried on walking, being more perturbed by his own feelings, or lack of them. Only a few short weeks ago he had been infatuated with Ginny and now he was relieved when someone interrupted her attempt at seduction – had even leapt at the opportunity to stop her. What was the matter with him?


	4. Chapter 4

A few days later, Harry was seated at the breakfast table quietly seething about the way that Malfoy ate his toast when Hermione passed him the _Prophet_ and pointed to the leading article.

_**“HIGH-RANKING OFFICIAL IN ILLEGITIMATE CHILD SCANDAL”** _

_It has come to the attention of this newspaper that, amidst the preparations for his son William’s marriage to the beautiful Fleur Delacour, Arthur Weasley, Head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Defensive Spells and Protective Objects, has been concealing a dark secret – a teenaged love-child fathered on his Muggle paramour!_

_The Weasley family has been trying to pass off this child, currently resident at the Weasley family home, as a distant Muggle-born relative. However, both Arthur Weasley’s near-legendary fecundity (seven children between the ages of 15 and 26) and his documented passion for all things Muggle would seem to argue for a far closer relationship between the two._

_What is more scandalous is that, should this child indeed turn out to be one of Arthur Weasley’s by-blows, judging by his apparent age his Muggle mother must have been pregnant at the very same time Molly Weasley (nee Prewett) was carrying Arthur’s youngest legitimate son, Ronald (17)._

_Arthur Weasley was not available for comment but his estranged son Percy, Assistant Private Secretary to Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister for Magic, had this to say: “It is some time since I have lived under my father’s roof but, notwithstanding our current differences, I find it hard to believe that he would behave in such a dishonourable fashion towards my mother and the rest of the family.”_

_Turn to pages 2, 3 and 5 for more on the breaking story. For pictures of Miss Delacour’s wedding robes see page 23._

“This is all your fault,” roared Ron at Draco before stamping out.

“Of course it is,” muttered Draco at his retreating back, “because it was my idea to pass myself off as one of your family. Oh, wait…”

“It _was_ a good idea,” said Hermione firmly, “and it still is. There isn’t any suggestion that you’re _not_ a Weasley, is there? We just need some damage limitation.”

“Damage limitation?” queried Harry.

“Obviously we can’t tell the truth without blowing Malfoy’s cover, but perhaps we can make things easier for Arthur and Molly,” explained Hermione.

“But how?”

“The _Quibbler_ ,” said Hermione. “We’ll see if we can get them to run some sympathetic stories on how Molly is being hounded by the gutter press for opening her heart and home to a poor lost waif.”

“Waif?” asked Harry.

“Waif,” said Hermione firmly. “After toddlers and grannies there’s nothing the average tabloid reader likes better than a lost waif.”

“Well, there are busty blondes too,” said Harry, who had found his cousin’s stash of Page 3 ‘Stunnas’ under the bed in his room one summer. “Except Malfoy’s not a blond any more and he never was particularly bounteous in the chest department.”

“If I knew what the hell the pair of you were talking about, I’m sure I’d be grossly offended,” said Malfoy.

“Eustace Weasley also needs to make another public appearance, just to show that he’s not hiding away in shame,” continued Hermione. “I think a trip to London is in order.”

“We can go to Diagon Alley,” suggested Ron.

“And visit your Father at the Ministry,” added Hermione.

“Do you think that’s wise?” asked Harry. “Given what the papers are saying and all?”

“No,” said Hermione, “it’s more than wise, it’s perfect – the Ministry is the last place they’d expect Eustace to show up if he really was Arthur’s illegitimate son.”

“But what if we run into someone who really knows me?” asked Draco uneasily. “I know I got away with it at the wedding, but I didn’t know most of those people from Salazar Slytherin.”

“Don’t worry,” said Hermione, “we probably won’t meet any of your old friends, and if we do we’ll just consider it an even better test of the disguise – though I’m confident it could stand up to any challenge.”

“Gryffindors,” muttered Draco under his breath.

***

A few days later, after the _Quibbler_ had published a number of increasingly mawkish pieces about the newly dubbed ‘Molly Weasley: People’s Mother’, Harry, Draco, Hermione, Ron and Ginny headed for London, Draco’s blond roots having been re-touched in honour of the occasion.

Despite current uncertainties, and a smattering of boarded-up shops, Diagon Alley still drew a respectable-sized crowd. After a quick visit to the Twins and a browse around Flourish & Blotts, the party settled down at one of the tables dotted around outside the cafés ostensibly for a spot of elevenses, but more strategically to see the world pass by and be seen themselves. For a while, the gambit seemed to be working nicely, with the number of disapproving glances balanced out by those stopping by for a quick chat and asking to be introduced to ‘the new member of the family’. However, Harry suddenly became aware of Draco tugging urgently at his sleeve, where it lay beneath the table. Harry’s glance followed Draco’s and saw a familiar face.

“Damn – it’s Blaise Zabini,” whispered Harry.

“Maybe he won’t deign to notice us,” whispered back Ron hopefully. Alas, Ron’s hopes were to be dashed as Blaise’s eyes zeroed in on the group and he began to saunter towards them.

“Fingers crossed,” murmured Hermione under her breath.

“What happened to ‘I’m confident it could stand up to any challenge’, huh?” muttered Harry in return.

“No harm in warding off misfortune,” she said serenely.

“Well, well, well,” drawled Zabini as he came to a halt by their table. “Just look what the Kneazle dragged in. I’d have expected you to stay at home and out of the way of decent people instead of flaunting your father’s by-blows in public.”

As if psychic, Hermione grabbed Ron to prevent him from going on the attack, but neither she nor Harry, who still had Draco’s fingers in a death-grip on his sleeve, were able to prevent Ginny from leaping to her feet, eyes snapping and red hair fanning out behind her. “Don’t you dare talk about my father like that,” she yelled.

“If the cap fits…” said Blaise with a negligent shrug.

“At least he’s not a murdering gold-digger like your mother.” 

Blaise smiled, apparently unaffected by the insult. “Well gosh.” he said, “That sounds almost like an admission of guilt.” Having brushed-off Ginny’s offensive, Blaise then moved on to Draco. “So, Eustace,” he said, “do you have something to say for yourself or are you going to carry on hiding behind a girl’s skirts?” Perhaps fortunately, given that Hermione’s Muggle fix-its had not extended to his voice, Draco was too utterly transfixed at the disdain that he saw on his one-time friend and housemate’s face to make any sort of reply.

“I thought not,” said Blaise. Suddenly he threw back his head and launched a large gobbet of spit straight into Draco’s face. Draco simply sat there aghast while it slid down his face before dripping off of his chin and onto his robes. Blaise dabbed his lips with his handkerchief, tucked it away carefully and then addressed the world at large: “Squib or no, it’s clear from his complete lack of social skills that he’s a Weasley – bad blood will always out. Really, you’d think they’d have the decency to stop breeding altogether.” And with that, he turned on his heel and departed.

“It’s marvellous the way that Pure-Blood fanatics totally disregard the fact that things can happen by non-magical means,” crowed Hermione. “Blaise looked straight at Draco and because there was no hint of magical intervention he didn’t even begin to suspect that he wasn’t what he seemed!”

Draco appeared less impressed by the mystic power of Clairol than Hermione evidently was, and seemed preoccupied by watching Blaise’s back as it and he faded into the distance until Harry elbowed him and passed a napkin. “He spat on me,” said Draco, plaintively, as he wiped himself down.

“No,” said Hermione, “he spat on _Eustace_.” 

“Well, it was still _my_ face that it hit,” snapped Draco in return, still apparently shaken by the incident.

Hermione rolled her eyes at this apparent lack of appreciation for her efforts on the disguise front. “Come on now,” she said, briskly. “Everyone pull themselves together - we’ve achieved what we set out to do and now we have other places to be,” and with that she rose from the table and led the way towards the exit to Muggle London.

“Doesn’t feel so good, does it?” said Harry as he fell in beside Draco. “Being hated just for what you are.”

Draco snorted. “Like you didn’t always hate me for what I was,” he said.

“No,” said Harry, pulling Draco to a halt and looking directly into his eyes. “I hated you for what you _said_. I had no idea what you _were_ until later.” Draco stared silently back at Harry for a few moments before pulling away and stalking after Hermione.

The party’s next destination was the Ministry for Magic where, on arrival in the spacious atrium, they found that they were no less the centre of attention than they had been in Diagon Alley as passing bureaucrats paused to look at them as they went about their daily tasks. 

“Morning, Ronald,” said an elderly gent, who decided to take advantage of both his slower gait and his familiarity with the Weasley brood to attempt to assuage his curiosity.

“Morning, Mr Perkins,” said Ron.

“Come to visit your father, or on important official business, eh?”

“Just visiting Dad, Mr Perkins.”

“Good, good… and this must be the famous Eustace,” said Perkins, patting Draco on the back in what might have been a hearty fashion in a younger and more vigorous wizard. “How are you enjoying your introduction to the Wizarding World?”

“Very much, sir,” said Draco, politely.

Harry wasn’t paying much attention to the conversation and had allowed his attention to stray to the passers by, which was fortunate since it allowed him to spot Alastor Moody joining the throng. He wasn’t sure what, if anything, the other members of the Order knew about Draco but he was sure none of them really wanted to risk an encounter with him in public. “Mad-Eye at five o’clock,” he muttered to Ron, who followed his gaze before moving to extricate them from Perkins.

“Well, we must be going,” he said. “We promised Dad we’d meet him for lunch.”

“So nice meeting you,” added Draco, almost managing to sound sincere.

Ginny turned to Ron. “I think I’m going to see Percy,” she said, “I’m afraid I was awfully rude when he spoke to me at the wedding and I think I should go and make it up with him.”

“OK, Gin,” said Ron. “Do you want to meet up with us later?”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head and smiling, “this is Percy we’re talking about; I could be there for hours! If I get through in time I’ll probably pop back to the shops when I’m done and then I’ll see you at home.”

The rest of them bid their farewells to Ginny and then piled on up to Arthur’s office for a well deserved rest from all the attention and, if they were really lucky, a nice spot of free lunch into the bargain.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning the younger occupants of the Burrow were woken early by the sound of voices from below. Wakeful as usual after a night of listening to Malfoy-breath, Harry came out of his room, leaving behind a severely disgruntled Draco who had buried his head under the pillow and was muttering imprecations. After a quick wash and brush-up Harry dressed and headed for the stairs, bumping into Hermione on the way, and together they found an ashen-faced Ron sitting slumped at the kitchen table. 

“What’s going on?” asked Hermione.

“Percy’s dead.” 

“What!” said Harry. “How did it happen?”

Ron sighed and shook his head before resting it on his hands. “All I know is that they found him this morning. The Aurors are with Mum and Dad - I guess they’ll tell us once they know something.”

Harry sat at the table with Ron, whilst Hermione busied herself making a pot of tea before joining the others for the seemingly endless wait until the door opened. When it did, Arthur Weasley looked as if he had gained a couple of decades overnight. Hermione leaped to her feet and ushered him into a chair before pouring out a sadly stewed cup of tea and placing it before him. Arthur gazed at the milky liquid before him as if he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

“What happened, Dad?” asked Ron. “Did they tell you?”

“It was a potion, they think, something slow acting. He could have been given it any time in the last couple of days. They need to do more tests to be sure.”

“But why?” said Ron. “Why Percy? Why now?”

“They’re making enquiries, doing their best. He did rise high very fast - too fast really. Not the usual practice, you know. He was so proud and I was so…” he trailed off. “If only I could take it back.” 

“I’m sure he knew you loved him really,” said Hermione.

Arthur closed his eyes briefly. “If only I could be as sure.”

“How’s Mum taking it?” asked Ron.

“She’s upstairs, they’ve given her some Dreamless Sleep and Ginny’s sitting with her until she nods off.” Arthur stood and brushed ineffectually at his crumpled pyjama bottoms. “Now, I should go and Floo your brothers and then get back to her.”

“Is there anything we can do?” asked Harry as Arthur reached the door.

Pausing, Arthur smiled regretfully back at Harry. “No,” he said, shaking his head, “there’s nothing we can do until the Aurors are finished with him. Thank you for asking, though.” Then he continued on his solitary way towards the parlour and his appointment with the sad news that he had to break to the rest of the family.

Left behind, Ron’s composure started to slip and he banged his fist hard against the table. “Stupid git – hadn’t he already caused enough trouble without going and getting himself killed?”

“Oh, Ron,” said Hermione, laying her hand in his arm. Ron’s breath hitched on a sob and he turned into her welcoming embrace. At the sight, Harry beat a hasty retreat into the hallway and came face to face with a bleary-eyed Draco.

“So, what the hell’s going on down here?” asked Draco.

“I’ll explain outside,” replied Harry, striding purposefully on and dragging Draco with him.

“I hadn’t had my breakfast,” huffed Draco in annoyance.

“Your breakfast is hardly the most important thing around this morning,” said Harry, as he continued to tow Draco towards the back door. 

A quiet “Harry?” interrupted the pair’s progress. Turning his head, Harry saw Ginny, pale faced and still in her dressing gown, at the bottom of the stairs. “Oh, Harry,” she said. “Have you heard about Percy?”

“I’m so sorry, Gin,” said Harry.

“I only saw him yesterday and now he’s dead,” she wailed.

Harry opened his arms as she threw herself at him. Enfolding her in what he hoped was a brotherly hug, he was startled to find Ginny winding herself around him like trailing ivy and feverishly pressing her lips to his neck.

“Um, Ginny?” he said, feeling suddenly claustrophobic within her grasp. “I really don’t think you should be doing this.”

“Take me upstairs, Harry,” she whispered in reply. “Make this all go away.”

“You know I can’t, Ginny,” said Harry, painfully aware of both his own automatic physical reaction and Draco’s interested gaze boring into him from behind. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“I don’t care about right,” said Ginny, winding her arms more tightly and pressing her breasts against him so that he could feel the hard nubs grazing his chest, “I just want you to make it all better. I know you want me, Harry, I can feel it.”

Harry’s head was spinning. This was all so wrong, Harry burning to deflower Percy’s little sister while far away in London his corpse was left to the indifferent care of the Aurors, but the way Ginny was pressing against him made him wonder if she wasn’t right – whether he shouldn’t just throw caution to the wind and ease her pain any way that he could. But the almost trance-like moment was broken as Harry heard a not entirely sotto voce, “oh, bravo!” behind him and turned his head to see Draco leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, patented Malfoy sneer plastered upon his face. “A family death is always such a good excuse for a quick lay,” he drawled, and with a gasp Ginny whirled away, out of Harry’s grasp and ran back up the stairs.

Harry stared helplessly after her for a few moments, then span round to see Draco’s back disappearing through the back door. Harry stormed after Draco and caught up with him as he rounded the corner. Grabbing his arm, he turned Draco towards him. “They’ve taken you in, fed you, cared for you and you mock their grief. Don’t you have even the faintest shred of decency?” he shouted.

“Well, the world is hardly going to notice the loss of a surplus Weasley, now is it?” said Draco. “Especially not when that little trollop is so avid to start breeding the next generation.”

Harry slammed Draco against the wall. “You shut that mouth of yours before I do it for you,” he yelled.

“Ooooh Potter, one common little tart throws herself at you and suddenly you think you’re such a man!” gasped Draco as soon as he had caught enough of his breath to form the words.

“Bastard,” screamed Harry, and lunged. 

When he started the movement, Harry had no idea of what he was intending to do to Draco once it was completed, but suddenly his body seemed to take the decision out of his hands and decided to take Harry's threat to close Draco's mouth all too literally - by using Harry's own mouth to accomplish the feat. This was no romantic gesture, this was brutal domination and yet Draco was responding against him, stirring to frenzied life beneath those violent kisses and wrapping too-slender arms around Harry’s back. At the back of Harry’s mind, the only part presently capable of functioning, some insidious voice seemed to be whispering that this was something that had been waiting to happen through all the years of their heated rivalry, but the thought was fleeting as all of Harry’s attention became focused on the willing body held so tightly against him.

Abruptly, ravaging Draco’s mouth wasn’t enough any more and Harry drew back slightly to push his hands under Draco’s robes, seeking and finding the flesh beneath. Draco wasn’t warm and soft like Ginny had been. There was no rounded flesh filling his questing palms - Draco was hard and angular, with inconvenient elbows and too many bones. No, this was no adolescent dream of a sunlit day; this was harsh reality and it was steadily driving Harry crazy. He bit down savagely on the pale shoulder that he had bared, eliciting a harsh groan from Draco in the process.

Harry fought with Draco’s robes, eventually clearing away the surplus fabric, curling his hand around Draco’s cock and fisting it roughly. Draco was having more difficulty with Harry’s muggle jeans, tearing ineffectually at the fly before eventually giving up and simply grinding down with the heel of his palm. Harry arched into the blessed pressure and came inside his trousers, barely noticing as Draco followed him a few moments later. 

For a few moments they stood wrapped together, the silence broken only by laboured breathing. Then Draco froze within Harry’s encircling arms. “I hate you, Potter,” he muttered into Harry’s neck.

“I know,” said Harry, resting his head against the cool bricks of the wall. “I know.”


	6. Chapter 6

Percy’s funeral took place several days later. The cause of death had been officially identified to be a poison distilled from meadow saffron, though the exact time that it had been taken could not be determined since death could take anything up to 36 hours after ingestion. The poison was not difficult to get hold of, being common in potions used to treat gout amongst elderly wizards prone to overindulgence and Perkins, who it turned out was one of them, had been questioned for some time before being released. As far as anyone knew, they had no other suspects.

Harry had decided to deal with the events that took place just after he’d learnt of Percy’s unexpected demise by pretending that they hadn’t happened. He avoided both Ginny and Malfoy as much as possible over the days between the death and the funeral – something that turned out to be remarkably simple at least as far as Malfoy was concerned, since he appeared to be avoiding Harry as well. After “the mistake”, as he had come to term it, Draco had simply pushed Harry away, turned from him without meeting his eyes, and had walked swiftly towards the house. In a way, Harry had had to admire his composure, since there was no way in hell that his knees would have been up to walking that soon. At night, when there was no way to avoid each other, Draco turned a resolute face to the wall and pretended that Harry wasn’t there. Harry attempted to do the same, though the results weren’t always spectacular for either of them – Harry having become familiar enough with the timbre of Draco’s breathing to know that the other occupant of the room was finding sleep as elusive as it was for him these nights.

Ginny was more difficult to steer clear of, but Harry’s efforts were aided and abetted by the number of relatives, well-wishers and nosey-parkers who descended upon the Burrow. Molly was also keeping Ginny very close and Harry would have been somewhat guilty about the relief that this grief-ridden dependency gave him had it not been for the fact that he blamed Ginny for the subsequent incident with Malfoy: ‘if she hadn’t got me all hot and bothered’, he thought, ‘it would never have happened’. 

Never.

Molly took to her bed the day after the funeral and did not emerge until the late evening. Harry had not been aware that she was up and about until he walked into the kitchen and found her there, looking at a picture of Percy in his school robes, smiling at the camera, Head Boy badge proudly displayed. Molly looked up as Harry entered.

“I can’t help wondering whether if we had have done something different, he would still be alive,” she said. “He was such a good boy when he was young, tried so hard to make us proud of him – perhaps if he hadn’t been so determined to make something of himself he wouldn’t have been in that job, wouldn’t have been a target.”

Harry thought on this for a moment. “So you think it was something to do with his job?”

“Why yes,” replied Molly. “Why else would someone want to kill him?”

Harry sat down beside her. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

Molly sighed sadly. “And then I think, maybe if we hadn’t had that falling-out, maybe he’d still have been living here and someone would have found him in time. Maybe he’d still be safe.” Her tears started to flow again and Harry reached out and took her hand in his. “You know, even though we’d grown apart, he still cared about us. When he was down for the wedding, he was terribly concerned about Ginny. I’m so glad they had a chance to make up before he died.”

“Why was he concerned about Ginny?” asked Harry.

“Oh, he was just being a fuss-pot of a big brother, I expect - protecting his little sister’s virtue and all that. I told him he didn’t need to worry about that while I was around to keep an eye on her. Besides,” she said, smiling at Harry, “there’s only ever been one boy for her, and I know he’s a real gentleman.”

“You know Ginny and me aren’t going out any more, don’t you?”

“Oh yes, but you’re young. Things will sort themselves out and then you’ll be happy. Why, there were times near the beginning when Arthur and I didn’t speak for days and days, but we always made up in the end.”

Harry wondered for a moment whether it would be kinder to let Molly go on thinking that it would all work out between him and Ginny. Then, admitting it to himself for perhaps the first time, he told the truth. “I used to believe that, but now… even if we all survive this, I just don’t know what I want afterwards.”

“Ah well,” Molly said sadly, “whatever happens, you know you’ll always be a part of my family.”

Harry kissed her gently on the cheek. “I know,” he said.

At that moment Ron and Hermione came in and Molly tucked the picture of Percy into the pile of letters of condolence littering the table. “Ah, there you are,” she said. “Ready for a nice cup of cocoa?”

”That’d be lovely, mum,” said Ron.

“And some cake too, I think,” said Molly. “I know it’s a little late in the day to be eating, but I’ve a lovely chocolate one that Hestia sent over. Really, people have been so kind.”

As they were settling down to the cocoa and cake, which was indeed both lovely and chocolaty, the door opened once more and Draco entered carrying a large pile of letters and parcels that he dumped on the table. “The afternoon owl post was still out in the hall. Mr Weasley said I should bring them to you.” With that he turned to leave, but was stopped as Molly called out to him.

“Do stop for a cup of cocoa, dear. We have chocolate cake too.”

Not even Draco’s apparent resolve not to stay in the same room as Harry for longer than was absolutely essential could stand in the face of chocolate cake and Draco joined them at the table, digging into the gooey cake with relish. The other three took this as their cue to take another slice each and the room was filled with companionable silence while Molly made a start on the newly arrived mail. “I wonder what this is,” she said as she began to unwrap a small parcel. A note fell out. “Oh, it’s from the Celestina Warbeck Fan Club – I’m a member you know – ‘may this small token spread its harmony and comfort you in your time of loss’. How sweet!”

Molly opened the enclosed box and discovered an intricately carved piece of rose quartz, but as she went to remove it Draco suddenly leaped from his seat and knocked the box out of Molly’s hands. “Don’t touch it,” he cried, “it’s cursed.” It fell to the rug and the gem rolled out and lay there glowing balefully at them in the light of the fire. While Ron and Hermione rushed to Molly’s aid, Harry grabbed Draco by the shoulders. 

“How do you know it’s cursed?”

“I recognise it, OK?”

Harry’s face darkened further and now he flexed his fingers with each word, shaking Draco. “How. Do. You. Recognise. It?” 

“I’ve seen it before. It used to belong to my father.”

“And how did your father get it?” continued Harry, implacably, not loosening his hold on Draco for one second.

“It was a gift, from Him…”

“And you thought you’d make good use if it, eh?” Harry shook Draco again, harder this time. 

“No, no – it was confiscated by the Ministry.”

“That’s easy enough to say,” said Harry, preparing to shake Draco one more time.

Suddenly Ron grasped Harry’s shoulder. “Lay off of him,” he said. “Can’t you see he’s telling the truth?”

“How can you say that, Ron? He’s a Malfoy; you couldn’t trust him as far as you could spit him.”

“Just look at his face.”

Harry took a moment to regard Draco hanging limp, ashen-faced and defeated in his grasp and frowned. There wasn’t much in it muscle-wise, but Draco had at least a couple of inches on him – quite enough to put up a fight, so why hadn’t he? Quashing a traitorous thought about Draco’s similar lack of resistance the last time they’d been this close, Harry released him and stepped back as Draco caught his breath. “Is this all true?” he asked.

Draco’s eyes met Harry’s earnestly. “Yes,” said Draco, “it’s all true, I swear it. The stone used to belong to my Father but it was taken from him long ago and I’ve no idea how it got here.” 

For once, Harry couldn’t see the usual mocking gleam in the depths of Draco’s eyes and he began to think that perhaps Ron was right, but before he could say anything Molly, who had also recovered her composure, interrupted. “I believe you dear,” she said, walking over to the pair of them, “and I’m sure Harry will too when he puts his brains to work on the problem rather than his brawn. However it got here, it’s fortunate for me that you were around to recognise it.” She patted Draco’s arm. “Thank you, Draco, it was a lucky day when we took you in.”

“That’s all right, Mrs Weasley,” said Draco.

“Oh, call me Molly,” she replied. “I think you’ve earned it. Now I think I’ll go and have a little lie down.”

Ron walked up to Draco. “I still think you’re a git, but thanks for saving Mum.”

“That’s alright,” said Draco, holding out his hand. “Truce?”

Ron regarded the offered hand for a moment, before clasping it briefly. “Truce, I suppose,” he said.

“Right,” said Draco, “I don’t know about the rest of you but I’m heading for bed. It’s been a long day and I’m a little tired.”

“’night,” muttered Harry, in lieu of an apology.

Draco paused for a moment as if deciding whether to respond then nodded and said, “see you later, Potter.”

“You know,” said Hermione, turning to Harry after Draco had left, “that book you read…”

“What about it?” asked Harry.

“Eustace turned out to be a hero.”

“He did?”

“Yes, he had to turn into a dragon before he learnt the error of his ways, of course.” Hermione smiled. “I’ll say goodnight as well. Try not to stay up too late.”

“Dragon, eh?” said Ron. “Come on, I know where Dad stashes the Firewhiskey. After the day we’ve had, I think we deserve a shot.” They went into the parlour where Ron rummaged around in the back of a cupboard and retrieved a half-empty bottle from behind some old copies of _Witch Weekly_.

“If it wasn’t Malfoy, we need to work out who did do it,” said Harry from the depths of the sofa.

“And why Mum?” added Ron, while pouring a couple of substantial measures. He handed one to Harry and took a large swig from the other.

“Surest way of destroying your whole family, I suppose,” said Harry, accepting his glass. “Your Dad would certainly fall apart if he lost her.”

“We’d all fall apart if mum went,” agreed Ron.

“Or, there’s been all this hype in the press since the whole ‘Eustace’ thing broke. Maybe they just want to hit someone high profile?” suggested Harry, taking a mouthful of whiskey.

“If they did, they’d have been after you. You were right here in the house, after all,” observed Ron. “Nope, they started with Percy and now they’re after Mum.”

“You’re sure they’re connected?”

Ron looked at Harry as if he was stupid. “What else could they be?”

Harry’s brow wrinkled. Maybe he was being stupid, but this just didn’t seem to make sense to him. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s just that other than being related there’s really no link between the two of them and if it was your father they want to destroy, well, let’s put it this way, there are members of the family that he’d miss more than Percy.”

“Maybe they’re after all of us and Percy was just convenient,” speculated Ron, gloomily. 

“Maybe that’s just the Firewhiskey talking,” replied Harry. “Drink up.”

They drained their glasses in silence and then headed for bed. Parting from Ron on the landing, Harry tiptoed into his room. In the flickering light he could see Draco sleeping soundly in the other bed. Harry grabbed his stuff and headed for the bathroom. It had been an evening of surprises, he thought as he brushed his teeth - particularly regarding Draco - and he wondered what new revelations tomorrow would bring for the members of this increasingly unpredictable household. He sighed to himself - whatever else happened, he supposed that he’d have to apologise properly to Draco and that was not something that he was looking forward to.

Extinguishing the landing light, Harry returned to the bedroom where he found himself disorientated by the comparative darkness. Whilst he was pleased that he had remembered to snag his pyjamas before he’d headed to the bathroom, he cursed the fact that he had been too distracted to change into them when he was in there. Harry managed to get out of his clothes and get both legs into his pyjama bottoms without incident and then started to fight his way into his top as he headed for the bed. Unfortunately he had forgotten that the clothes he had just shed had added to the piles of his belongings, about which Draco had been complaining only that morning, which lay between him and his goal. Almost inevitably his feet tangled in something and he found himself plunging headlong onto Draco’s bed and, more unfortunately, onto Draco himself.

“Yaargh!” yelped Draco as he was abruptly pulled from his sleep by the impact.

“Sorry, sorry,” muttered Harry.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Potter,” said Draco, squinting at him blearily. “Decided to crush me to death now?”

“No!” squeaked Harry. “No, I’m sorry - it was a mistake, I, err…” Harry squirmed around on top of Draco, desperately trying to get off of the bed, but found to his mortification that he had managed to get himself thoroughly tangled not only in whatever garment was around his feet but also the bedding, and thus was going nowhere fast.

Draco was silent for a moment and then suddenly seemed to make his mind up about something. “So,” he said, his voice changing to a light mocking tone, “if it’s not murder you had in mind, I wonder what other reason you could have for sneaking into my bed in the middle of the night? Not,” he added, “that this is precisely what I’d call sneaking.”

Harry shook his head frantically, before realising that this movement, like the squirming before it, was giving him pleasant frissons from the contact with the body beneath him.

“Oh, come now, there’s no need for excuses - it’s not like I’m not pleased to see you.” Draco took Harry’s hand and eased it beneath the covers. Abruptly Harry realised firstly that Draco was sleeping in the nude and secondly that part of Draco was indeed pleased to see him… extremely pleased, in fact.

“It’s not an excuse,” said Harry, desperately.

“I’d be more likely to believe that if you weren’t investigating what you have a hold of quite so thoroughly.” Suddenly Draco rolled Harry over and pinned him to the mattress, Harry’s hand still trapped between them. “You want this, Potter. Admit it,” he taunted.

“No,” said Harry, but even as he spoke his hips were pushing upwards in defiance of his words and his legs were striving to free themselves from the bedding and tangle with Draco’s. Worse, when their mouths met in a searing kiss Harry couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t himself that had initiated it.

Draco dealt with the bedding and then ran his fingers down Harry’s sides, finding the elastic of his pyjama bottoms, hooking inside and drawing them down. He broke the kiss for a moment to sit back and wrench off the offending garments, then crawled back up Harry’s body and fixed his mouth to his throat like a limpet while his hand curled around Harry’s cock, teasing it to painful hardness. Draco pulled off for a moment and knelt over Harry. “Admit it,” he repeated. “Admit you want this, that you want _me_.”

“Please,” whimpered Harry. “Oh, please.”

“Not good enough,” said Draco, still immobile above him.

“I want you, oh God I want you.”

Finally taking pity, Draco bent down and wrapped his mouth around Harry’s cock, working it with expert tongue and lips until Harry was near mindless with desire. Then one hand slid to the hitherto uncharted territory behind Harry’s balls and he was coming with a shout.

When Harry came back to himself, Draco was sitting next to him, propped up on a pile of Harry’s pillows and looking undeniably smug. “Can I… er… may I,” stuttered Harry, gesturing uncertainly at the healthy erection that Draco was still sporting.

“Nice to see that passion doesn’t affect your eloquence,” said Draco, settling back. “If you insist, go right ahead - we can only hope that your tongue has been hiding its light behind a bushel.”

Harry was sorely tempted to smack the smug look from Draco’s face and then leave him and his hard-on to stew, but he’d never backed down from a Malfoy challenge and he wasn’t about to start now - especially not with something so very tempting just within his reach. Still, he reasoned, there were other forms of revenge. Licking his lips nervously, he closed the distance and took Draco into his mouth, gingerly at first and then with increasing confidence. 

‘This’, he thought, ‘is much easier than I expected.’

Draco’s eyes were closed now, and his hips were questing restlessly upwards as if seeking more of Harry’s mouth. As Draco neared completion, Harry added a hand to the mix and, as if in response, one of Draco’s tangled itself into Harry’s hair holding him still as he came into Harry's mouth.

Much later, Harry listened to Draco’s breathing and did not think of murder.


	7. Chapter 7

At breakfast the next day, Harry was so convinced that his guilt must be written on his face that he could barely bring himself to look at anyone – particularly Draco. He wasn’t entirely successful in his aim since, as soon as breakfast was over, Draco touched his arm and muttered, “We need to talk.”

“ _We_ have nothing to talk _about_ ,” replied Harry, blushing fiercely and trying to beat a hasty retreat.

“Yes we do,” said Draco, taking a firmer grip on Harry’s sleeve. “And if you’d get your mind out of your underwear you’d realise it.” 

Harry’s mind had, indeed, been located somewhere in his underpants, much though he’d like to deny it, so Draco’s insistence that this was something unconnected with that part of his anatomy surprised him. “Right,” he said. “Talk. OK.” Then, as Draco didn’t immediately take him up on his offer: “Now?”

“We need somewhere private,” said Draco.

“There’s Arthur’s shed,” suggested Harry. “I suppose that would do.”

The two of them exited the house and headed towards Arthur’s shed, Harry furtively looking over his shoulder to check whether anyone was taking note of him apparently spending time with Malfoy on a voluntary basis. Upon arrival at the shed, he shut the door and rounded on Draco saying, “OK, so you’ve got me here. What is it you want to talk about?”

“There’s something odd going on here,” said Draco.

Harry smirked, in a fashion that would have made a Malfoy proud. “Something odd? After one murder and one attempted murder it hardly takes a genius to work that one out.”

Draco’s expression became mulish. “Up yours, Potter, I’m just trying to help here.”

Harry bit back a snort as he belatedly recollected that they were actually discussing the death of one member of his adopted family and the attempted murder of another. Considering the gravity of the situation, his past history with Draco, and his discomfort with what he had allowed to happen between them the previous night really needed to be set aside. “All right,” he said. “So what’s odder than someone trying to kill a couple of the Weasleys?”

“That’s what’s odd about it. Whilst I can think of any number of people who’d relish thinning the herd, if you were going to kill a couple of Weasleys…”

“Me?”

“I _was_ talking in the general sense here, but you’ll do as well as anyone. If _you_ were going to kill a couple of Weasleys, why would you choose Percy and Molly? Aside from being part of the same family, there’s really nothing that I can think of that connects them: Percy was in politics, Molly isn’t. Molly’s well liked, Percy wasn’t. Molly’s here, Percy was in London…”

“… Molly’s in the Order, Percy wasn’t,” murmured Harry without thinking.

“The Order?” queried Draco. “You mean the Order of the Phoenix?”

“You know about that?” said Harry in surprise. 

“Please,” said Draco, “ _everyone_ knows about that. I have to say that it never occurred to me that any of the Weasleys might be excluded though.”

“No-one really trusted Percy after he became Scrimgeour’s Man,” explained Harry, “but just because it didn’t occur to you that he might not be in the Order, that doesn’t mean that it didn’t occur to someone else.”

Harry was expecting another outburst, but instead Draco just shrugged. “Fair enough,” he said. “Anyway, the point stands - unless you’re systematically wiping out the whole family, there doesn’t seem to be an obvious reason why you should target those two in particular, so it looks like it’s personal. The killer must have a specific grudge against those two individuals, rather than just picking them off them as part of a wider scheme to destabilise your side.”

“It’s your side too these days, remember?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Biting back his exasperation, Harry got back to the point. “Normally I’d hate to admit it, but for once I agree with you; I even said something similar to Ron last night, but he thinks they’re just starting with Molly and Percy before going on to him and all his relations.” His face lined with concern. “What if someone really is trying to wipe out the whole family?” 

“We’ll just have to work out a way of preventing it,” said Draco.

This time Harry _did_ snort. “First of all, why are you suddenly so concerned about the Weasleys and second, what’s with the ‘we’?”

Draco’s lip curled. “If they all die, what’ll happen to me?”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” said Draco. “Contrary to your obvious belief that I’m totally devoid of all of the finer feelings, I am not entirely lacking in appreciation for what the Weasleys have done for me. You were right in what you said the other day – they’ve taken me in and protected me when no one else would. On your second point, I’m just being practical. I’ve been with you almost 24 hours a day recently so there’s no way you’d have had time to mastermind a massacre even if you had the wit to manage it. That makes you the only person in this household that I can trust.”

“Well that’s a turnabout,” said Harry, choosing to ignore the insult to his wits.

“Isn’t it just?” agreed Draco, ruefully. “So, are we going to work together on this or not?”

Harry thought about it for a moment. Malfoy’s reasoning made sense in a way, but after the last couple of incidents, he really wasn’t sure he could trust himself around Draco anymore. On the other hand, if all this were some sort of charade on Malfoy’s part, then he would have a better chance of uncloaking him if he stuck close. On the other hand, he could be walking into an elaborate trap. At this stage in proceedings, Harry was beginning to wonder how many hands he actually had.

A voice broke into his reverie. “Potter, you’re thinking too much. You’ll do yourself an injury.”

Harry made up his mind. “OK, Malfoy, I’ll work with you on this – though heaven knows what people are going to think if we suddenly get all cosy. It’s bad enough if anyone’s seen me disappearing into the shed with you.”

“Why, what will they think we’re up to?” asked Draco, disingenuously.

“After last night, I hardly think you’d need to ask,” said Harry, breaking his vow never to acknowledge the event.

Draco raised his eyebrows and flashed an evil grin. “Well,” he said, stalking purposefully towards Harry, “it looks like your thoughts are back in your nether regions again. Still, I’ve no objections to a spot of undercover work and if you think we’ve already started the gossip, we may as well get some fun out of it.” 

Draco, it appeared, had finally mastered the mystery that was the zip and proceeded to demonstrate this newfound talent on Harry’s jeans. He then reached inside and began to demonstrate that this new dexterity had not been acquired at the cost of existing skills.

“Malfoy, what do you think you’re doing?” yelped Harry.

“I’m taking advantage of you, what does it feel like?” said Draco with a smirk before falling to his knees before Harry and putting his mouth to better use. It only took Harry a few moments to come and he was just contemplating throwing Draco to the ground and ravishing him, when a horrified “Harry!” broke into his post-coital daze. Harry looked up and straight at the shocked faces of Ron and Hermione.

“I think it’s time for me to make my exit,” said Draco, scrambling to his feet and wiping his mouth.

“What? You’re just going to swan out of here and leave me to deal with the fallout?” said Harry, aghast, as he fumbled his dick back inside his jeans and zipped himself up.

“Just watch me.” And with that, Draco spun on his heel and left. Abandoned to face the music, Harry sank to the floor and put his head in his hands.

As soon as the door had swung closed, Ron snapped shut the mouth that had been hanging open, only to realise belatedly that he’d have to open it again so he could talk. “You going to tell us what’s going on with you and the ferret?” he demanded, once he had finally got his traumatised brain cells firing well enough to formulate the question.

“I don’t know,” said Harry, “truly I don’t.”

Ron started pacing agitatedly. “You give Ginny the brush off, but you let Malfoy into your trousers? What’s that all about?” He stopped and swung round to Harry. “God, you never even told me you were gay.”

“I’m not, at least I don’t think I am,” said Harry. “I really liked Ginny, I mean _really_ liked her, but I had to end it for her own good and now she’s pushing so hard to get back together that it makes me feel uncomfortable all the time. I’ve hated Malfoy for years, but I just can’t help myself and when I’m with him it’s like coming home. I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“Maybe it’s a curse?” suggested Ron, with the air of someone desperately clutching at straws.

“But why?” asked Hermione, joining the conversation for the first time. “What purpose could a spell like that possibly serve?”

“I dunno… maybe they want Harry to fall in love with Malfoy and join their side?”

“And I thought it was me who was supposed to read too many romance novels?” said Hermione, raising her eyebrows.

“OK, then I guess we’ll just have to chalk it up to me being an idiot,” said Harry.

“No argument there,” agreed Ron, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you think you’re up to, but you’re my best friend so I suppose I’ll just have to live with it. Just try not to have sex in front of me again.”

“That wasn’t deliberate,” said Harry. “By the way, exactly what _were_ you and Hermione doing down here in the shed anyway?”

Hermione turned an interesting shade of pink and suddenly found the floor incredibly interesting. Seeing that he’d get no support from that quarter, Ron shrugged. “Same thing you and Malfoy were,” he admitted.

“About bloody time,” said Harry.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry and Draco’s investigations did not get off to the most brilliant of starts, there being very little to start _on_ for starters. 

The Aurors had taken the gem away, after having questioned everyone in the household – something that had had them all on edge for fear of Draco’s identity being revealed. Fortunately it seemed that Aurors’ prejudices were as entrenched as those of Draco’s former housemate, since they took little notice of him and, when doing general checks on the safety of the Burrow and its inhabitants, only looked for magical threats. The credit for recognising the cursed gem was given to a somewhat embarrassed Hermione, who claimed that she had seen it in a book she had borrowed from the Restricted Section at Hogwarts. Given both Hermione’s academic reputation and the fact that not even the Aurors would dare to try to get past Madam Pince to check her story, this was accepted by all and sundry and Hermione became for a brief time the plucky Muggle-born heroine who had saved the Peoples’ Mother.

As far as they could find out from Arthur, despite having finally made the Malfoy connection to the gem, the Aurors were unable to explain how anyone, least of all the Celestina Warbuck Fan Club, might have got hold of it. The Fan Club, for its part, vigorously denied any part in the events but by way of amends (and in thanks for the massive increase in membership brought about by the publicity) had persuaded Celestina to record a tribute, the proceeds of which were to go towards funding a statue of Molly which they hoped would be placed in the Ministry foyer. “Over my dead body” the Minister was rumoured to have said upon hearing of the plans. 

The search for Percy’s killer was also at a standstill. The official explanation was that his status as PS Minister for Magic meant that the matter had become part of an internal (and probably interminable) investigation. However, whilst Arthur had not been told anything official, the rumour was that Percy had been sighted near the Dark Artefacts store on the afternoon of his death. Harry and Draco quickly figured out that it was this that had made the higher echelons at the Ministry decide to remove the investigation from the clutches of the Aurors. Although, technically speaking, Percy’s own clearance wouldn’t have allowed him to remove items from the store, he had access to all of the inventories and passwords and, being Scrimgeour’s eyes and ears, it was unlikely that anyone would have questioned his authority had he chosen to claim to be acting on the Minister’s behalf. The Ministry would never countenance the notion that one of their bright young things had gone so disastrously astray and thus had begun the official whitewashing exercise.

Of course, if Percy’s death and the attack on Molly _were_ indeed connected as Harry and Draco suspected, it was obvious that the killer must have acquired the gem from the Ministry on the same day that Percy had been poisoned. The question remained of whether Percy had been an accomplice or had been killed to cover up the theft… or both. 

Draco came a step closer to the answer to this question a couple of days later when he was unceremoniously hustled into the parlour by a visiting Remus Lupin one morning while Harry and the others had gone into the village, Hermione having decided that they needed a change in scenery. Upon entering the room he found a grim faced Arthur and the Twins waiting for him. 

“We need your help,” said Remus, “so we’re going to have to trust you with some information we wouldn’t otherwise be sharing. I need your word that what you’re about to here will not go beyond this room.”

“Of course,” said Draco, mentally crossing his fingers.

Being now well established in the Wizarding World of Commerce, the Twins were plugged into the local rumour mill, which apparently seemed to be working more efficiently than the official chain that ran to Arthur. They had come to the Burrow with some disconcerting news regarding Percy’s death.

“Apparently Percy was incredibly busy on the day of his death, something to do with the Minister’s announcement of the introduction of new Regulations on the handling of Blast-Ended Skrewts,” said Fred. “He was in before sun-up, worked through his lunch-hour and his secretary has confirmed that no one brought any lunch in for him. The indications are that the only person present when Percy ate or drank that day is Ginny when he ordered tea and cakes when she visited him in the afternoon. The Aurors want to bring her in for questioning.”

“Ginny?” said Draco in surprise. Whilst he couldn’t be said to like the youngest Weasley, for obvious reasons, he would not have put her at the top of his list of suspects and nor would he have expected one of her older siblings to do so.

“Word on the streets is that it’s looking bad for her,” said George. “The poison had to have been ingested within a certain period of time before Percy’s death and the only person around when he was eating was Ginny.”

“What about his secretary?” asked Draco.

“They’ve already questioned her,” said Fred. “She checks out. The only time Percy ate or drank that day was when he was with Ginny. Worse still, the Aurors say that the poison would have immobilised Percy for some time before it killed him so he couldn’t possibly have been down in the vaults at the time he was seen there. That means that someone was using Polyjuice or a Glamour to look like him – and that person must have known that the real Percy was in no state to interfere. I hate to say this, but it’s looking bad.”

“But why would Ginny do such a thing?” asked Draco. “It seems difficult to believe.”

“She’s done things before that no-one would have believed she could do,” pointed out Remus.

“But that wasn’t her,” said Draco, “that was You-Know-Who.”

“Precisely,” said Remus. “Her earlier experiences will probably have left her particularly susceptible to spells such as Imperio, so it’s more than likely that someone might be controlling her.”

“How can we find out?” asked Draco. “Slip her some Veritaserum?”

“No,” said Remus, “if she _is_ being controlled, whoever’s doing it will probably have taken steps against the possibility of questioning under Veritaserum.”

“Then what?”

“It’s possible that a skilled Legilimens could pick something up while she was distracted,” said Remus.

“I know Harry studied for a while,” said Draco, wondering where this was going.

“Yes,” said Remus, “but apparently he never really applied himself. I wouldn’t dream of allowing him to try it on Ginny.” He sighed. “The only living person I can think of with the depth of expertise we need to unpick this is Severus Snape. That’s why I brought you here, Draco – you’re the only person who might have a chance of contacting him.”

“Snape!” said George, who had obviously not been briefed on this element of the situation. “But he’s on the other side. Surely Dumbledore’s death proved that?”

“Things have never been entirely black and white when it comes to Severus Snape,” replied Remus. “I loved and respected Albus as much as the rest of you, but there’s more to both his and Severus’ actions than meets the eye - things I don’t have the authority to explain to you right now. Suffice to say, I think we could trust him on this if we could get him here without blowing his cover.”

“I’ll contact Snape for you,” said Draco, “but if he agrees to come you have to promise me that he’ll be safe. After all, I owe him my life.”

“He’ll be as safe as any of us,” said Remus, “that’s about all anyone can promise with a killer on the loose.”

“It’s not the killer I’m talking about,” said Draco, “it’s Harry.”

“I’m sure Harry will see the sense in this,” said Remus.

“But will that be before or after he’s tried to kill him?” asked Fred, not unreasonably. “Harry can be very single-minded sometimes.”

“Hell,” said George, “it’s not even like Harry is the only person here who’d like to have a go at him. Despite what Remus said, if you invite him here I wouldn’t mind taking a pop at him myself.”

A voice came from the doorway. “No-one will be taking a pop, as you put it, at anyone in my house,” said Molly. “Now, who exactly is it that we’re talking about?”

“Severus Snape,” said Remus, cursing himself for not locking the door.

“Ah,” said Molly, “Severus. That would explain the threats of violence. And may I also ask why you are thinking of endangering my family even further by inviting him into my home?”

“Molly,” said Remus, taking her hand and leading her to the settee where he urged her to sit, “we’ve been learning some very disturbing things about Percy’s death and the attack on you. We think that someone in your family might be being controlled and I believe that we need Severus’ expertise and insight if we’re going to save them.”

“Who is it that you think is being controlled?” asked Molly, carefully.

“Ginny,” replied Remus.

Molly closed her eyes, drew a deep breath and let it out carefully. Opening her eyes again, she asked: “Why Ginny?” 

“The investigation into Percy’s death seems to strongly implicate her. I don’t think any of us believe that she might do such a thing, much less attack her own mother, so it stands to reason that someone else’s hand is behind all this.”

“And you think Severus can work out what’s happening, maybe free her?”

“Yes,” said Remus, taking one of her hands between the pair of his. “I think he’s probably the only one who can now that Albus is gone.”

“Very well,” said Molly, firmly. “In that case he’s more than welcome here.”

“Mum!” expostulated George, “have you forgotten what he did?”

“No,” replied Molly, removing her hand from Remus’ grasp and turning to her son. “Nor have I forgotten why he did it.”

“Why he did it? What possible reason could Snape have had for killing Dumbledore? Apart from the obvious, of course,” said Fred.

Molly shook her head and looked at Remus. “If Severus is coming here, I think we’re going to have to tell the children everything,” she said. Then, giving a sharp look at her twin boys, added with a firming of her tone, “Everything they _need_ to know, of course.”

“Yes,” said Remus, “but only once we know he’s coming. Until then, they’re just going to have to trust us - there’s no need to put him at any more risk than necessary.”

“All things considered, Remus, I think you’d better stay with us for a while until this is sorted out – if Nymphadora can spare you, that is,” said Molly.

“Right-o,” said Remus, “I’ll just pop back for some things and then I’ll get settled in.”

“I know the Aurors have already been over them with a fine toothcomb, but I think it would be best if we had a look at the house Wards,” said Arthur to the twins. “I’d appreciate anything the pair of you could suggest to improve them.”

“Right, Dad,” said Fred.

“We’ll tie ‘em up so tight nothing will get through,” said George.

“That’s not going to do much good if the threat is already here,” observed Draco.

“Then at best the threat will be thrown off-guard by thinking that we suspect an outside force and at worst it’ll give us something to occupy ourselves,” said Arthur. “Come on boys, let’s get to work.”


	9. Chapter 9

With Draco both unable and unwilling to tell Harry about the decision to summon Snape, he had to find some other way to fill the hours. Today found them in Draco’s bed again, the afternoon sunlight a soft and buttery gleam through the chinks in the drawn curtains. The last few days of enforced idleness had changed and blurred the boundaries between the two of them, their bodies and movements becoming familiar territory to each other with a swiftness that was almost frightening.

“Harry…” 

Draco’s voice broke the heated silence as hands fluttered at Harry’s sweat sheened shoulders. “Shhhh…” murmured Harry, as his mouth traced the line of fine hairs that led down from Draco’s navel, “I’m busy here.”

“No, Harry, not like this,” said Draco, pushing at him more firmly.

“Then how?” said Harry pulling off, his chest rising and falling in time with his unsteady breathing.

A pause, then, “I want you inside of me.”

Harry froze in momentary terror. So far he’d been able to somehow separate out what he did with Draco from his everyday, conscious mind, compartmentalising it away from the part that was screaming ‘what the hell do you think you’re doing?’. But this - this was frighteningly, awesomely real and threatened to tear down all those carefully erected barriers. But, oh God, he wanted it with a terrible, dark yearning. Harry steadied his laboured breathing and then met Draco’s eyes and asked, “What do I do?” 

“That’s not very Gryffindor of you,” observed Draco with a small and slightly tremulous smile. “I thought you lot were all for rushing in where angels fear to tread?”

“I’m not sure angels have anything to do with this,” said Harry, “and the question still stands – what do I do?”

“I don’t really know,” admitted Draco. “I’ve never done it before either. I think you need to prepare me – lube and fingers and all that stuff.”

Harry was beginning to worry that his education had been severely lacking, though really, he reminded himself, lube and fingers probably weren’t particularly high on the priority list when it came to swotting up on ways to defeat a Dark Lord – unless the Dark Lord in question was particularly pervy, of course. “Ummm, all what stuff?” he said, feeling his arousal start to ebb away in the face of technical details.

“You know, uh, stretch me out so you can fit in,” said Draco, in tones that would suggest he was blushing furiously had Harry been able to see it in the monochrome tones of the half-light. 

Harry took some obscure comfort in this. “Oh,” he said. “Do we even _have_ any lube?”

“I have some salve - for my lips, you know. I think that’d do.” Draco crawled over to the bedside table and rummaged around for a moment before holding up a small pot in triumph. “Here you go.”

“Where do I put it?” asked Harry.

“Some _on_ you and some _in_ me,” came the somewhat disconcerting reply. “Hang on, I’ll do you first.”

Moments later, Draco’s goo-smeared hand encircled Harry’s drooping erection and teased it back to life with firm strokes. ‘This is nice,’ thought Harry and, pushing his performance anxiety issues to the back of his head for the moment, relaxed and gave in to the sensation. All too soon, though, Draco was smearing more gloop onto Harry’s fingers and crawling up the bed to position himself over Harry’s hand. Harry paused, his fingers a fraction of an inch from Draco’s most private of places, feeling a similar tension in his partner’s body to that which was washing relentlessly over himself again.

“Please?” said Draco, pulling Harry’s hand against him. “Harry, please - just get on with it.”

Harry’s fingers quested for a moment and then found the entry. He probed tentatively for a moment before pushing a single finger inside, feeling Draco stiffen against the intrusion. “Tell me if I’m hurting you,” he said. Draco nodded silently and Harry took this as a sign to continue. This was really strange and, had he not been concentrating so very hard on the task at hand, Harry might have burst out laughing at the absolute absurdity of the notion that he might be sitting there with his finger up Draco Malfoy’s arse. Yet there he and his finger definitely were and there was Malfoy suddenly throwing back his head as Harry brushed against something inside of him.

“Again,” came the breathless command, and Harry was happy to comply, watching in fascination and building passion as Draco’s back arched. 

Alas, the God of mutually successful sexual congress was not smiling upon Harry and Draco that day for suddenly there was a loud banging on the door and they heard the sound of Ron calling out, “Harry? You in there?”

Harry tried desperately to gather his wits about him, which was no mean feat given their current position and the interpretation which he could, quite reasonably given the situation, have placed upon Ron’s question. Eventually, however, he managed to regain some sense of equilibrium. “Yeah,” he said, “what is it?”

“Big trouble, mate - we need you downstairs quickly. Bring Malfoy if he’s with you.”

Harry had a sudden, scandalous vision of him bringing Malfoy along using the hold he currently had on him. Then he thought better of it and pulled his finger out, wiping it hastily on the sheet and trying not to think what Molly might say come washday. “Come on, Malfoy, get dressed,” he said.

“What, you’re going to leave me like this?” protested Draco.

“No choice, you know Ron wouldn’t have disturbed us unless it was really important.”

“Fuck,” said Malfoy, succinctly.

The two of them dressed hastily, and headed downstairs. Harry, like Draco, grabbed wizarding robes and thanked heaven for the way that the voluminous folds hid any evidence of their current physical state. Arriving in the kitchen shortly later, Harry and Draco found Mr and Mrs Weasley, Ron, Hermione, Remus and the Twins gathered there. 

Arthur cleared his throat nervously. “Harry, I’ve asked you here today to tell you something important - something that must not go beyond these walls. The investigations into my son’s death and the attempt upon my wife’s life had uncovered something that requires a particular skill to unravel. A skill, moreover, that only one person that I know can both wield and be trusted to wield in this circumstance: Severus Snape. I have therefore invited him here.”

“Snape,” exclaimed Ron, “but he’s a traitor!”

Molly gave a quelling look at her youngest son before nodding at Arthur to continue: “I understand that some of you have some not entirely unreasonable objections given the events that took place earlier this summer. My wife and Remus have persuaded me, against my better judgement, to inform the rest of you of some things that you are not currently aware of regarding those events.” Arthur paused for a moment while he polished his glasses on his robe. “Severus Snape is not a good man but he was, and continues to be, working for the good of our side. The actions that he has taken in consequence are neither laudable nor easily forgiven, but it remains the fact that he has carried them out at the wish of Albus Dumbledore. Albus saw more clearly into the future than any of us and, whilst we may not agree with his decisions, we must respect both those decisions and the person that he trusted in to carry them out.”

“I don’t care,” said Harry, “I’m not having that murdering bastard here.”

“If Mr Weasley says we need him, Harry, then we need him,” argued Hermione. 

“But even if you decided to work with him, did you find him?” asked Ron. “No one’s seen him since, well, you know…”

“Someone has,” said Hermione, looking pointedly at Draco.

“Malfoy doesn’t know where he is,” said Harry, “he would have told me if he did.”

“Harry…” said Draco.

“Please,” said Harry, “please don’t tell me that you’ve known all along.”

“I…”

Harry rounded angrily on him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you’d have run off after him in a frenzy of misplaced revenge and probably got yourself killed in the process, that’s why.”

Harry grasped Draco’s arms. “Why should you care if I get killed? You’ve wanted me dead for years - I’d have thought you’d have been cheering them on.”

“Does this feel like I want you dead?” asked Draco, pressing closer and grinding against Harry’s thigh so that Harry could feel exactly how aroused he still was.

“This? This is _nothing_!” spat Harry. “Just some sort of perverted lust.”

“Well, fuck you, Potter,” said Draco, pulling away and striding out of the room into the hallway.

Harry could feel his cock twitch in response to what it evidently took as a promise, but clamped down ruthlessly upon his feelings and followed Draco with the others in tow, agog at the drama being played out before them. “Well, what else am I supposed to think?” shouted Harry at Draco’s retreating back. “You share your bed; share your body with me, yet you keep secret the one thing you knew I wanted to know above all else. This is all just a game to you.”

Draco came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs and turned slowly to face Harry. “This is no game. It’s never been a game between you and me,” he said quietly.

The two of them were so intent upon each other that they’d forgotten that they had an audience – an audience that, moreover, included several who had not previously been aware of whatever it was that was going on between the two of them. More importantly, they hadn’t noticed the figure standing transfixed on the landing. However, a door slamming hard enough to make the glassware tinkle brought this home to them as Ginny made her abrupt exit back into her room.

“God, Ginny,” said Harry, “I…”

“I’ll go and talk to her,” said Molly. “The rest of you, get back in there and sort this out.”

Following Molly’s order, they trooped back into the parlour and Arthur took the floor again. “Severus is currently maintaining deep cover,” he said, “but we decided that our need of his services was such that we should attempt to call upon him. Remus and Draco have been successful in this attempt and he should be arriving shortly. Once he arrives I will not tolerate any attack upon his person. Is this clear?”

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room, before Hermione raised her voice in agreement, quickly followed by Ron as she elbowed him sharply in the ribs. Shortly after, the twins also gave their aye. One voice had yet to be heard.

“Harry?” said Arthur. “I need your word on this.”

“And if I can’t give it?” replied Harry.

“Then with great regret, I will have to ask you to leave my home,” replied Arthur.

“You’d throw me out while welcoming him here?” said Harry, accusingly. He shook his head in apparent disbelief. “I suppose you’d obliviate me as well.”

“I hope it won’t come to that,” said Arthur, meeting the anger in Harry’s eyes without flinching.

A few moments later, Harry broke Arthur’s gaze. “Very well,” he said, “invite him in if you wish, I won’t raise a hand against him - but don’t look to me to help when he betrays you all again.” 

Draco held out a hand to him. “Harry,” he said, but Harry simply shook him off.

“Don’t,” he said. “Just don’t,” and turned away to face the window.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Remus, children, I think we should leave these two to talk,” he said.

After the others had departed an uneasy silence fell in the room. Draco was the first to break it. “I’m sorry, Harry. Not sorry that I didn’t tell you, but sorry you had to find out like that.”

“I can’t believe you’d do this. I mean, I can - I find it really easy to believe that you’d do it but I was hoping that I was wrong, that you weren’t what I’d always believed you to be.”

“And what did you always believe me to be?”

The truth seemed so easy to tell. “A self-serving, cowardly little bastard.”

“So why did you change your mind? Oh, let me guess - we started sleeping together. I suppose it would never do for the saintly Harry Potter to think he was sullying himself with a self-serving, cowardly little bastard - he had to pretend that he was redeeming me.”

“No. I thought I was getting to know you, thought that there just might be a half-way decent person hidden away under all those bloody prejudices of yours. But it seems I was wrong.”

Draco closed his eyes for a moment and sighed defeatedly. “No, you were right – I _am_ a self-serving, cowardly little bastard, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you.”

“Care about me?” repeated Harry, aghast. “After what you’ve done you have the utter balls to claim that you _care about_ me?”

“A bit surprising given as how we’ve already established that I’m a dyed in the wool coward, eh?” said Draco with a self-deprecating smile.

Suddenly Harry couldn’t bring himself to continue this conversation any further. “Dammit, Malfoy,” he said, striding out into the hall and towards the front door, “what the hell are you trying to do to me?” 

If Draco was planning on answering, the door had closed behind Harry before he had the chance. He stared at it for a moment and then walked upstairs alone, to the room he shared with Harry. 

Shortly thereafter, Ron and Hermione crept out from behind the kitchen door from where they had been listening in on things and found the downstairs abandoned, leaving them in sole possession of the parlour… and the sofa. Ron moved in to take advantage of the fact, only to be stopped in his tracks by Hermione. “We really ought to go and talk to Harry,” she said, even as Ron’s lips were hovering above her own.

Ron sighed and pulled away. “Do you know how rarely it is I get a chance to get you alone?” he said.

“Of course I do,” said Hermione, “I’m generally there when it _does_ happen. But this is important, Ron. If Ginny really is being controlled and if Snape really is the best person to help her, then we need to make sure that Harry isn’t going to let his temper get the better of him and mess things up.” 

“There’s an awful lot of ‘ifs’ in that statement,” said Ron.

“Aren’t there always,” agreed Hermione, ruefully.


	10. Chapter 10

As it turned out, Ron neither had time to talk to Harry, nor to take advantage of Hermione, for only moments later a black-robed figure appeared just outside the newly strengthened wards. “Adequate,” was the only comment as he tried, and failed, to break through them.

The welcoming party, such as it was, gathered in the kitchen, where Molly vainly strove to break the ice by dispensing large mugs of steaming tea and chocolate biscuits. Disdaining both, Snape glared around him. “Where is Draco?” he snapped. “I’d have thought the ungrateful whelp would at least make an appearance when I arrived.”

“He’s sulking in the bedroom,” said Ron. “He just had another set-to with Harry.”

“Ah, yes, the Boy Wonder. Still floundering around self-righteously I suppose?”

“I’m afraid he isn’t terribly happy about the fact that we’ve called you here… or about Draco’s role in it,” said Arthur.

“I doubt Potter would need even so slight an excuse to attack Draco,” observed Snape. “Frankly, I’m amazed they haven’t killed each other long since.”

“If you thought that, then why did you send Draco here?” challenged Hermione.

Snape’s lips curled into a faint sneer. “Heaven forfend that I should fail to organise my life around the need to make Potter’s easier,” he said.

A moment or two later, the aforesaid ‘Boy Wonder’ made his appearance from the garden. “Snape,” he said, stiffly, “I’m told that despite everything you are still on our side and that we need your help. I will accept that for the meantime at the request of our host, but I want you to know that I neither forgive nor trust you and that when this is over we will have our reckoning.”

The ensuing silence was broken by a slow handclap from Snape. “Bravo, Potter,” he drawled. “Still the epitome of sound and fury, I see.”

Harry was about to respond angrily when something seemed to distract him, but looking back over his shoulder, he couldn’t see anything or anyone out in the hallway. He shrugged mentally and was about to re-launch himself into the verbal fray when Snape snorted. “Typical,” he said, “even when you’re in high dudgeon it seems you can’t pay attention for more than a few seconds at a time.”

“I thought I heard something,” said Harry, distractedly. Snape opened his mouth to reply, but before he could respond, a sudden scream rent the air followed by a muffled thump as if that of a body hitting the floor. “Draco,” gasped Harry and raced out of the room and up the stairs. 

“I don’t want to know how he recognised Malfoy from that,” said Ron.

“Shut up, Ron,” said Hermione, grabbing his hand and taking off after Harry, followed by the others. 

By the time they reached the landing Harry was already wrestling ineffectually with the handle of his and Draco’s room. He threw himself against the door, but it didn’t budge. Suddenly there was the crack of Apparition from the other side. 

“Stand back,” said Snape and sent a Blasting Curse at the door, shivering it right off of its hinges. Inside, Draco was laying limp and pale on the floor, the jewelled hilt of a silver dagger protruding from his stomach and a fine spittle of blood around his blueing lips. Both Harry and Snape dropped to their knees beside him.

“Draco,” said Harry, pulling him up and cradling him in his arms, “Draco, speak to me.”

“Get off of him, you foolish boy,” roared Snape, but Harry ignored him, holding on tighter and burying his face in Draco’s neck as he continued to make muffled pleas for Draco to be all right.

“Harry,” said Hermione, gently, “I know you’re worried, but you really need to let go of him. You want him to be looked after, don’t you?”

Harry looked up at her dazedly and then released his charge into Snape’s arms. Grasping the hilt of the dagger, Snape pulled it from Draco’s flesh and threw it to Remus before ripping open Draco’s robes and starting up the same sing-song incantation that Harry had last heard when the wounds to Draco had been inflicted by himself rather than by some unknown assailant. As Harry watched, the small wound began to knit closed.

Eventually Snape sat back. “He’s lucky - it didn’t damage any of the vital organs, but we’ll need to keep an eye on him for a while in case of infection. I suspect a botched job – if the assailant hadn’t been in a rush they might have had another try and hit the hepatic artery and we’d have been too late to do anything by the time we’d broken in.” He stood and picked Draco up. “We need to get him to bed. Keep him warm and dose him with blood replenishing potion.”

Snape laid Draco down on his bed and Molly tucked the covers up to his chin. “I’ll sit with him,” she said.

“Thank you, Molly,” said Snape. “One of us should also stand guard in case the attacker comes back to finish off the job.”

“I’ll do it,” said Harry, quickly.

Snape eyed Harry suspiciously before relenting. “I have no idea what’s going on between you and Draco, and I’m fairly sure that I don’t want to know, but if that little display of hysterics is anything to go by I think I can trust you to watch over him. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

The afternoon stretched on interminably as Draco lay there, still and pale, his dyed ginger hair leaching any colour that remained in his wan face. Then, finally, as the shadows were beginning to creep across the garden outside, he started to stir. Harry rushed to his side from his position by the door. Draco’s eyelids fluttered, then just the thread of a whisper, “Harry?”

Molly got up from her seat by the bed and left the room. “I’m here, Draco,” said Harry, settling himself down beside him.

“Never called me that before,” said Draco, the ghost of a smile trying to play upon his lips. His hand reached out and Harry took it in his own and squeezed it gently.

“Try to rest,” he said. “You’ve been badly hurt.”

“Something you need to know,” said Draco, doggedly. “Won’t like it, but need to know.”

“What is it?”

Draco struggled to open his eyes again. “Ginny,” he said, before lapsing back into unconsciousness.

***

“How could it have been Ginny?” asked Molly. “I dosed her with Dreamless Sleep before I left her and she’s still sleeping soundly now – I just checked.”

“Besides,” added Ron, “we heard whoever did it Disapparate. Ginny’s too young to Apparate.”

“Too young to be licensed,” said Fred, “but George and I had worked out how to do it years before we were legal. No reason to think that Ginny couldn’t do the same. Plus, if she only Apparated back to her bedroom, that would explain why the wards didn’t react.”

“It’s possible that she was prepared in advance against any sleeping potions you might use upon her,” said Remus. “Remember – we’ve come across it in cases where Veritaserum was used against people under the Imperius Curse.”

Snape butted in, impatiently. “You called me here to use Legilimency to prove whether something was controlling your daughter, and from things that I observed earlier this year I think you may be right in your fears. I suggest you allow me to use that skill as quickly as possible before someone else is killed.” 

“But surely she’ll be on her guard now that Malfoy’s told us who stabbed him?” said Hermione.

“Not if she thinks Draco’s dead.” 

“Again?” said Ron. “Isn’t this where we all came in?”

“He does rather seem to be making a habit of it,” agreed Hermione with a small smile. “But how can we get Ginny to lower her guard?” she continued.

“You use me,” said Harry.

“How very noble of you,” said Snape.

“No,” said Molly, “it makes sense. One of the things that worried me about Ginny’s behaviour long before Percy’s death was her determination to get close to Harry whether he wanted it or not. I know she’d had a crush on him when she was younger and that she’d hoped for a while that it had become something stronger, but this was different - she was behaving so shamelessly, almost like a cat in heat. My daughter may be determined when it comes to something she wants, but she’s not like that. I brought her up with proper morals.” Molly paused. “That was one of the reasons that I forced you to spend so much time with Draco, Harry, to keep someone between you and her… though I hardly imagined how it would turn out.”

“I’m sorry, Molly,” said Harry, “I’d have loved to have been a real son to you, but things don’t always work out the way we expect.”

Molly hugged him tightly. “Like I told you before, Harry, whatever happens you’ll always be a part of my family,” she said.

“Touching though this undoubtedly is, could we possibly get on with business?” said Snape. “If I interpret you correctly, we pretend that Draco died from his wound without regaining consciousness and that Potter here is devastated at the loss. Miss Weasley will then attempt to take advantage of his grief and I will take advantage of her distraction. Correct?”

“Correct,” said Harry.

“Not a bad plan at that,” said Snape, much to everyone’s surprise. “Assuming that Miss Weasley is currently pretending to be back under the Dreamless Sleep potion that her mother administered, we have several hours in which to put it into effect. I suggest therefore that we all try to get a little rest and then announce Draco’s death in the morning.”

“I agree,” said Arthur.

“I assume you’re going to insist on taking the Death Watch, Potter?” said Snape.

“Yes,” said Harry.

“Very well. If someone would show me to my room…” 

Molly bustled off to do that and Harry went upstairs to relieve Remus so he could spend yet another night listening to Draco breathe - and, this time, he would thank all the gods that were and might have been that he was still able to do so. 

The night crept inexorably on. Dawn broke at last, thin and watery, and with it Draco. “’Morning,” said Harry.

“Is it?” said Draco.

“How are you feeling?” 

“Like death warmed up,” said Draco.

“That’s fairly appropriate,” said Harry. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to die again.” 

“What colour do I have to dye my hair this time?” asked Draco with a wry smile.

“No hair dye this time, just the Draught of Living Death. Snape has whipped up a batch for you.”

“Do I have to?” said Draco, fear creeping into his eyes. “I don’t like the idea of being so helpless.”

Harry reached out to grasp Draco's pale hand where it lay on the coverlet, and raised it to his lips. “I’m afraid so - we have to convince the killer that you’re dead. But I promise you that I’ll keep you safe.”

“Does this mean that I’m forgiven?” said Draco, trailing his fingertips along Harry’s cheekbone and into his hair.

“Possibly,” murmured Harry, brushing his lips to Draco’s, “but you may have to work a little harder at persuading me.” Draco’s fingers tightened in Harry’s hair and his eyes closed as his lips opened to deepen the kiss. Several lingering moments later, Harry drew away reluctantly. “We can continue this when you wake up,” he said, reaching for a phial of clear liquid on the bedside table and passing it to Draco who raised it to his mouth and swallowed it in one gulp before settling back into the pillows.

“Goodnight, Harry,” he said, his eyelids drifting closed.

“Goodnight, love,” said Harry softly, as Draco’s breathing slowed until it was almost imperceptible. He waited a few moments and then raced to the door, flinging it open and shouting “Arthur! Remus! Someone help me – Draco is dead!” 

Seconds later the landing was full of people as the entire household, including Ginny but barring Snape, materialised in response to his cry. Remus shouldered Harry out of the way and raced to the bedside to feel for Draco’s pulse and then to lay his head against his chest as if listening for a heartbeat. He straightened and shook his head sadly, saying, “There’s nothing I can do; he’s gone I’m afraid.” 

Harry put his head in his hands and dropped to his knees, sobbing. “I went to sleep,” he said brokenly. “It’s my fault - I went to sleep and he died.” He felt Ron’s hand drop to his shoulder.

“There’s probably nothing you could have done, mate,” said his friend.

Remus walked over to Harry. “I’m sorry to have to ask you this now, but it’s important. Did Draco say anything before he died? About his attacker, I mean?”

“N...n…no,” stuttered Harry. “He didn’t wake up and then I went to sleep.”

“It looks like we may never know, then,” said Remus, regretfully. “Molly, I think Harry needs some rest. Put him in my room where it’s quiet.”

Molly took Harry’s arm. “Upsy-daisy,” she said and then led him to Remus’ room at the far end of the corridor. Closing the door behind them, she turned back to Harry. “Right, Harry, I’ll leave you now.”

“Thanks, Molly,” said Harry. “Keep an eye on Draco, will you? He was so worried about being totally helpless with all this going on.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll all be around,” she assured him before taking her leave.


	11. Chapter 11

After Molly left, Harry took a moment to compose himself and then lay down on the bed, closed his eyes and listened to the distant hum of conversation and tread of feet. He didn’t have long to wait, for less than half-an-hour later he heard the door open and close, the sound of someone tiptoeing towards the bed. A familiar scent filled the room. Nevertheless, he strove to keep his eyes closed and his breathing steady until he felt gentle fingers stroking his brow. Then he allowed his eyelids to flutter open as if rousing from a light sleep.

“Ginny,” he said with a slight yawn, for it was she.

“Harry,” she replied. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“That’s all right,” he replied. “I was just dozing. Did you want something?”

“I just wanted to see how you were,” she said, sitting down on the bed beside him. “I was so worried.”

“That’s kind of you, Ginny. I really don’t deserve your concern after the way I’ve behaved.”

“Are you terribly upset about Draco?” she asked, laying a small hand on his chest.

Harry felt himself being wrapped in the cocoon of her soft hands and words, and the heady smell of her perfume. “I don’t know,” he said, “I’m so confused. Of course it’s terrible what’s happened to Draco, but now he’s gone it’s almost like a huge weight has been lifted off of my shoulders.”

Ginny dropped to one elbow beside him, her arm curving around his waist. “It’s quite understandable, Harry. You’ve been obsessed with Draco for years and what with being thrown together, something like that was bound to happen. But now he’s gone and we can be together again, just like we were always meant to be.” She was just leaning forward to kiss him, her lips gleaming moistly, as the wardrobe door burst open and Severus Snape leapt out, somewhat crumpled from his sojourn within.

“This has gone far enough,” he snapped, grabbing Ginny by the scruff of her neck and hauling her bodily away from Harry. She shrieked and struggled like a wildcat, but Snape held her still while he swiped his finger across her lips and smelled it. “Amortentia,” he spat, wiping the offending digit on his robes and striding out with Ginny wedged under his arm, still kicking and screaming. His steps took him to Harry and Draco’s room, where the rest of the household (including a revived Draco) were waiting. He had just thrown her into a waiting chair with a muttered ‘ _Incarcerus_ ’ when Harry joined the party.

Molly stepped forward to confront Snape as he towered over the restrained girl. “Well?” she snapped. “Is this my daughter or is it not?”

“Yes and no,” replied Snape. “It’s nothing as simple as Imperius, but she’s definitely not been acting entirely of her own volition.”

Molly turned to face her daughter. “Why have you been doing this?” she said. “Why would you want to hurt us like this?”

“You kept me away from Harry. Harry’s mine!” shrieked Ginny. “He promised me Harry would be mine!”

“Who promised you, Ginny?” asked Snape.

Ginny’s face briefly took on a crafty look before crumpling as she dissolved into artful tears. “It’s not my fault,” she wept. “He made me do it.”

“Who made you do it?” continued Snape, implacably.

Ginny’s face changed again, calming and settling into an eerily pleasant smile. “I did,” she said.

“And who are you?” asked Snape.

“Harry knows,” said Ginny. “Harry’s met me before.” She paused, “Actually, whilst we were only formally introduced the once, Harry corresponded with me for a while though he didn't know _exactly_ who I was at the time.”

“Tom?” asked Harry in shocked tones.

“Tom,” said Tom, using Ginny’s mouth. “Since the game appears to be up I might as well tell you. Actually, I’ve been wondering how long it would take for someone to finally notice how much silly little Ginny had changed. Well,” he said, smiling archly, “Percy started to notice just like last time, but we sorted _him_ \- didn’t we, Ginny?”

“But you’re dead,” gasped Harry. “I killed you.”

“The Basilisk’s poison attacks the body but doesn’t touch the soul,” said Tom. “Whilst you destroyed my corporeal form, the part of me that was already inside Ginny lived on. I slept for a while, but once your blood awakened my older self, I grew in strength and started whispering to her again. Of course, it was easier when she was younger - in those days, a few sympathetic words turned her into a willing accomplice, but this time round I had to work a little harder. If she wanted to be Mrs Harry Potter I had some serious work to do, but eventually it all fell into place and we had Miss Ginny Weasley, darling of the school and the perfect bride for the Boy-Who-Lived. And it worked, didn’t it? You were so blinded by her new looks and popularity that you never noticed the other ways in which she’d changed – how like me she had become. I have to say that I was quite surprised at how easily you overlooked some of her behaviour, but seeing as how you’ve chosen a Malfoy for your current playmate it all suddenly makes sense.“ 

Tom shrugged. “Of course, Albus destroying the ring messed up my timetable just like it messed up my rival’s. I couldn’t just rely on teenage hormones to do the job any more; I had to take an active hand if I was going to move before he did. Fortunately, Horace was my potions master as well as yours - I knew all of the right buttons to push to get Ginny her supplies. Amortentia and the Draught of Peace for you, Felix Felicis for the Quidditch matches, Wit Sharpening Potion to make her the... What was it you thought? Oh yes, the ‘life and soul’ of the team.”

“You could see my thoughts?” said Harry in horror.

“We share the same link as you and my other self - I just use it more intelligently. Such a shame that you started coming out from under the potions when you were kept away from Ginny at the end of term. Then, once you got here, Molly was keeping such a close eye on her darling daughter… Ginny didn’t want to kill her mother, you know - she was almost pleased when the Malfoy whelp got in the way - but she really was very inconvenient. Of course, I hadn’t counted on the shift of your affections while you were out from under the influence.” 

“But where did you get your strength to do all this without draining Ginny completely?” asked Remus. “You didn’t even have the diary to work through this time.”

“What, you think the diary was the only tool I had? There are things hidden within Hogwarts, things of unspeakable power. And once I was established I could work through them to influence things in my favour.”

“Horcruxes,” whispered Harry. “There are Horcruxes hidden at Hogwarts.”

“Clever boy. Yes, Horcruxes - they’ve been poisoning the atmosphere there ever since the other me created them, and once little Ginny brought me back I could direct their influence. Surely you don’t think it was all happenstance? Who in their right mind would preside over a system like the one Dumbledore did, and on the brink of war at that? He was in a position to inspire and lead each new generation, and instead he had you at each other’s throats. I want an army at my back and Hogwarts’ celebrated ‘house spirit’ has created one without my even having to lift a finger.”

“An army? What would you want with an army?” asked Harry.

“Why, to take over the world – with your help, of course.”

“My help?” said Harry. “I’d never have helped you.”

“You’d have had no choice by the time Ginny and I were finished with you, silly boy. It wouldn’t have taken long to turn our psychic link into a permanent bond and then you’d have been ours, body and soul – and once I had unlimited access to your particular talents and connections, no one and nothing could have stopped me from taking my rightful place back from the one who has stolen it from me.”

“But we’ve stopped you now,” said Harry.

“For the time being,” sneered Tom. “But you’re hardly going to kill dear little Ginny, now are you?”

“We don’t need to,” said Snape, raising his arms and starting to chant.

The room grew dim and cold as if all of the light and warmth were being sucked out of it, and Harry heard the sound of a distant scream.

“Dementors,” he gasped, his breath coming out in clouds of white. “He’s summoning a Dementor. I told you he’d betray us, I told you!”

“No,” said Draco, coming forward to put his arms around a badly shaking Harry. “It’s all right, just watch.”

A spot of darkness was growing in the middle of the room, pulling the shadows into it until it had taken the form of a tall, hooded creature. The Dementor swung its shrouded face towards the watching people, tasting the air, then moved forward until it was stopped, as if blocked by an invisible barrier. Barred from reaching the larger meal, it turned back to the figure bound to the chair and leaned forward, touching its lips to Ginny’s and curling its hand behind her head in some grotesque parody of a lover’s caress. Ginny’s body stiffened for a long moment before collapsing in on itself as the Dementor stepped away. Then, as it moved forward as if for second helpings, Snape gestured again. “Begone,” he commanded, and at that the darkness departed and all that was left in its wake was a broken and weeping girl. Molly rushed forward and took her into her arms, murmuring nonsense as she cradled her daughter to her bosom.

***

After Molly and Arthur had taken Ginny away, Harry was the first to raise the question that was plaguing them all. “How?” he said. “How did we let this go on for so long - and right under our noses?”

“Tom was very clever,” said Remus, “and remember – he had an inside source.” 

“You mean Ginny actually _helped_ him?” asked Ron, aghast. 

Remus shrugged. “She was very young when all this started, and he offered her everything she’d ever wanted. It would have been terribly hard for her to resist.”

“Voldemort offered Harry whatever he wanted when he was the same age, and he turned it down,” objected Ron. 

“We can’t all be strong,” said Remus gently, “and besides, Harry had you and Hermione. Ginny had no one.” 

“When she and I… you know… were together, who was that that I was kissing? Was it her or him?” asked Harry, haltingly. 

“A mixture, I would guess,” said Remus. “By that stage it was likely that Tom couldn’t tell which desires were Ginny’s and which were his own – if indeed any difference still remained between them after all that time.”

“One thing I don’t understand is why Tom was so keen to get Ginny what she wanted from Harry?” said Hermione. “Did he really care about her as she once believed or was there an ulterior motive?”

“From what I have deduced from Tom’s rantings, if Ginny had persuaded Harry to consummate their relationship Tom could have started feeding off of Harry and, through Harry’s connection to Voldemort, off of his older self as well. At that stage, I doubt that even Albus at his prime could have stood against him. That’s why he couldn’t risk Voldemort killing Harry before he’d got Ginny close enough to forge a power-drain. Otherwise I’m sure he would have betrayed us all to the other side long ago. He certainly had enough opportunities.”

“So was that the plan? For Tom to destroy his older self and rule in Voldemort’s place?” 

“Yes,” said Remus. “Neutralising Harry would have been a bonus of course, but I think it was Voldemort that Tom was really after – then he could have used the power that he regarded as his own to regain the position of power that he believed Voldemort had stolen from him.”

“Neutralise?” said Harry. “Why not just kill me?”

“Ginny would never have let him kill you, Harry,” replied Remus. 

“But she let him kill Percy and she wanted to let him kill Draco,” said Harry. 

“Percy was too dangerous to both of their plans to be allowed to live,” said Remus. “So, they poisoned him then used him to get the gem.”

“And let’s be honest,” added Ron, with an apologetic smile at Draco. “We all want to kill Malfoy from time to time. In fact I seem to remember you coming fairly close to doing it yourself on at least one occasion, Harry.”

“Indeed,” said Remus. “Which, as I understand, is what alerted Severus’s suspicions. Fortunately he took steps to remove you from the malign influence, such as he could.”

“You mean that’s why you gave me all those detentions?” Harry asked, turning to Snape.

Snape raised his eyebrows. “Well, you didn’t really think that they were an appropriate punishment for attempted murder did you?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Harry. “All I could think about at the time was that you were keeping me away from Ginny.”

“It was fortunate for you that he did,” said Remus. “It meant that she had fewer chances to influence you, so by the time you came to the Burrow you were better able to withstand her attempts at seduction. Of course, it also helped that Molly was keeping such a close eye on her daughter’s virtue – though that nearly proved fatal for her. As for Percy, from what we’ve pieced together, I think that Ginny slipped him the poison and then left the Ministry. After making sure she’d been seen visiting the shops, she returned and took the Polyjuice Potion that Tom had helped her prepare earlier - so while the real Percy was lying paralysed on his office floor, his duplicate was stealing the gem from the vaults.”

“But what if someone had come back and found Percy?” asked Hermione.

“We don’t know exactly, but we suspect that she sneaked back into Percy’s office first, raided his security cabinet for the passwords etc. - then left wearing Percy’s face, locking the door and telling his secretary that he’d be out for the rest of the afternoon. I’m sorry, Harry, but we think she might have borrowed your invisibility cloak to achieve parts of the plan.”

“It was in my room,” said Harry. “Everyone knew where it would be, it never occurred to me to hide it.”

“Nor should it have done in a houseful of friends, Harry, but you might want to keep a closer eye on it in future.”

“It seems as if so much of this is my fault,” said Harry.

“You couldn’t help the way that Ginny felt about you, and you couldn’t help the way that Tom exploited those feelings,” said Remus soothingly. “He’d been influencing her for so long that in many ways I don’t think you ever knew Ginny Weasley. Indeed, I’m not sure whether the one you thought you knew even existed in any real sense.”

“But will she ever be herself again?” asked Harry. 

“I don’t know,” said Remus. “St Mungo’s will do all they can, though it’ll be a while before we know for sure. But don’t lose hope – she’s young and her body at least is still healthy. There’s every chance that they can bring back the girl she was before she met Tom and that she’ll recover completely and go on to lead a full and happy life.” 

“But not with you,” said Draco, curling his hand possessively around Harry’s.

Harry smiled affectionately at him and then turned back to Remus with a sigh. “I still can’t believe I didn’t notice sooner.”

“It’s easy enough to say that in retrospect, Harry,” said Remus.

“She was possessed for a year, made to do those dreadful things - I should have at least wondered why she didn’t seem to suffer any ill effects. God, I didn’t even remember what had happened to her I was so wrapped up in my own problems, and when she changed so much, I should have asked myself why.” 

“We’re the ones who should have noticed,” said Ron, bitterly. “We’re her family, but when she finally came out of herself we were all just relieved she’d put the difficult times behind her. I guess we didn’t want to waste time worrying about her any more, so we never questioned how abrupt the change was or noticed the timing of it.” 

“A good job you didn’t,” said Remus, “else more of you might have gone the way of Percy. This has been terrible, especially for your family, Ron, but we’ve been through bad times before and we’ll come through this one as well.”

“But this just underlines why I need to fight my battles on my own,” said Harry. “I can’t have any more people suffering because of me.”

“Don’t start with that nonsense again,” said Hermione. “Like Remus said, the reason you didn’t give in to Voldemort was because you had friends at your back. You need us and we’ve proved time and again that together there’s nothing we can’t do.”

“Unstoppable, mate,” said Ron.

“And you’re certainly not shaking me off, you might slip back into all sorts of bad habits if you’re left to yourself,” added Draco. 

Harry took a moment to kiss him briefly on the lips and then turned to the others. “Come on, then,” he said. “One Dark Lord’s down, but there’s still one to go - Voldemort’s out there and we have things to do.”

~Fin~


End file.
